


Parallex

by treewitch703



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient History, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:19:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 106,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treewitch703/pseuds/treewitch703
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I started spinning out Parallel worlds into Parallex Tales because no one would write the story I wanted to read.  Of course I have realized that no one could write the story I wanted, no one could satisfy my infernally itchy curiosity bump. I was the one with the questions and bless the internet, I could find some answers.</p><p>Herewith is my own red pencil version of Godric's story, why he has those tattoos, what made him so wild as a young vampire, and what ultimately saved his soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Bedtime Stories .

It was almost Yule and the Long Dark had eaten half their waking hours. There was barely enough light to do chores, care for the animals and bring in firewood for the long night.

The family had gathered to prepare for the feast and butcher the steer before it ate up any more hay. All day the men had spent at the heavy, bloody business of cutting up the carcass while the women and children bundled up and dealt with the innards. It was cold work cleaning the guts for sausage making. For the next week they'd be chopping and spicing the meat, blending it with barley and kidney fat and stuffing it neatly into the clean intestines. Since the women were tirelessly chopping and pounding, the children's small hands were set to work stuffing the casing. Finally the ropes of sausage were carried out to the smoke house to dry. 

They'd each had a slice of grilled liver for supper with roasted onions and turnips from the cellar. The elders craved the strong flavor more than the children did, but all the small helpers got a dribble of honey on their barley cakes as a treat.

The littles had been given over to Granny at bedtime. She sat before the center hearth, a basin on her knees, dealing with grubby hands and faces one at a time, then shooing them towards the bench along the wall. There were only five weans for her to wash up, the childer could settle themselves.

Top and tail, the bigs bolstered the edge of the bench, and the cold wall side. The littlest snuggled warm in the center. There was a certain amount of scuffling in the outer ranks. Granny tugged the sheepskin coverlets straight and swatted at a medium sized boy who was kicking his brother/cousin. Their mothers were sisters, they'd been raised in the same household, so were closer than cousins. Even though they didn't look anything alike, they were close. Where one was, there was the other – and also a third; who bolted upright at this point and tweaked the nose of the miscreant. “Quit! The littles are tired and want to hear their story, so do I.”

Granny had gotten her lap robe and her stool, and had fussed until everything was arranged to her satisfaction. Sipping at a small cup of warm and lively mead to help her voice and limber her memories, she began to recite:

_On the mountain's shoulder_

_the Lady's heart and shield._

_Rested undisturbed. In slumber,_

_secure in the honor of their defender._

_Whilst unencumbered the Sword of the clan roved,_

_hunting, seeking the fleeting life force of fleeing prey._

_Taking joy in thrumming pulse, thudding heart._

_Swiftly skimming the flanks of mountains_

_reaving river valleys, reaping fear._

By the second line the bigger children had chimed in and the littlest tried to get their tongues around some of the longer words.

“Lady's comin' soon”, declared (a voice from?)the center of the child huddle.

“Yes, dearie, for Yule. She always comes at Yule.”

“'An we will have blood,”up piped the other side of the bench.

“Of course we will, we will have the Blood Fest.”

“Granny? When will we be old enough to recite for the Lady?”asked the slender brother/cousin.

“Well, fledgling, I know you and your age-group've got some of the stanzas by heart; I'll have to hear you all the way through to be sure.”

“Granny, Granny, Gran! We're big enough. Really!” Little heads popped up from the center of the pile.

“Imma sheild, imma sheild,”chanted the littlest

“Tomorrow, littles, tomorrow, you can show me how well you do the refrain.”

A soft babble rose from the middle:

_ Now succor for pained and ailing elders, _

_ Now winter's tale of fell deeds passed the nights. _

_ Their weal. Her death consumes their life, their life _

_sups her death. This is their mead, eternal feast._

With whispered corrections from the bigs.

“Well, that has gotten you more stirred up than sleepy; maybe I should tell you the story of First Cat?”

“Once Upon a Time, there was a Cat who walked by himself..............”

[Kipling -'The Cat That Walked By Himself' - YouTube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9IbTHL-AXH8).


	2. Introduction  200 CE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scene: night, brightly lit. Three travelers concealed safely within a brushy bramble patch.
> 
> One head lifts, turns, a hand draws aside the edge of the no-color cloak.
> 
> A whisper on the air, “Hssst!”.....

....Softly still, ”hsssssst”.

Exhale: "whaaaa?"

A breath, "shhhh".

"Listen" barely voiced.

"Ahhh, good ears, you."

"Huh".

The shadows strain forward in the dark, heads turning, eyes seeking. Moonlight visible through the concealing brambles.

Scuffle, leather against the roadway, dragging, a smack lands on flesh, a muffled galumph. Moon bleached lumps heave and kick at the pallid misshapen figure on the road. "Faughh, nah fight in 'im," complained the first lump. "Where's the fun in that? If'n you hadn't spent all that time lookin' for places ta' stick yer dick, there might be some wiggle left for me! Piggy bastid!"

"Was my turn to ha' firsties!" Whined the second lump. "An' we drew straws. Las' time you pulled all the nice bits orf."

"Ahhhh, les 'jus' stake it out, and get our coin. 'Mind me not to get crosswise the Corbullo, not healthy-like."

The travelers had turtled down into their cloaks, not wishing for their eyes to give them away.

Praying;

'Peace, let it find peace.'

'Matres!' 1

'Ohhh, nasty.'

Opposite the thicket the two thugs dragged their victim off the road and toward an east facing cliff, pausing longer than necessary to snap some branches from a deadfall. Bent over, hands on knees, puffing, blowing and pulling faces in dismay at the talus slope that awaited them.

"Jes gotta get it up to a spot where they'll be a nice view of the sunrise an' we're done!"

"We don' havta get 'im up real far, jes pas t'first bit. Eh? Git t'job done!"

Ignoring the clink and chink of the rocks as they scrambled upward, they roughly hauled the figure and sticks behind them. It was probably fortunate that their boot soles were worn to pliability since it afforded a better grip on the rocks. The branches weren't doing their fellow traveler any favors either. As they hauled the burden over the boulders the watchers gagged to see what was left of the creature. Attenuated limbs flopped, not one had been left complete, its mother could not have recognized what was left of the face. No wonder it was so pale, there was probably no blood left to drip.

Holding as still as possible, they swallowed roughly and let their tears flow as what was left hung, head down, suspended from branches thrust between leg bones and wedged into crevices.

The thugs swayed as they surveyed their work without satisfaction. Something was missing. Instinct provided the answer, as one man, they pawed at their tunics, fumbled a moment and pissed. Ahhh! Perfect!

With a sense of fulfillment goons 1 and 2 slid down the slope and wandered off down the road, hopefully never to be seen again.

C

The small gray eyed boy was happy to toddle up the mountain meadow trailing his aunt under the early summer sun. A basket, meant to carry flowers for his mother, swung from his hand. His Mother was not well and his aunt had suggested they search for something sweet smelling to help her feel better.

In particular she was looking for Frigg's grass, or lady's bedstraw to ease the travail of childbirth.

All their stocks had been used up making cheese from the new milk –

besides in this instance fresh would be better.

She had already helped the boy pick some still blooming sweet woodruff in the damp shade of the

woods; it wouldn't matter if it wilted a bit, since that just released the fragrance. Needs must they

could use that for a tisane for her sister.

Standing in the last bit of shade afforded by the trees she squinted into the bright meadow.

"Kit, can you see any yellow butterflies?”

Kit mimicked her squint - “See stripy milk colored? Like that?”

“Maybe; do you see

yellow flowers?” She asked, still scanning for the tell tale sulfur wisps.

“Look aunty, by the big rock!”

“It's all rocks up here, Kit. Show me.”

Kit's little legs struggled determinedly across the rocky ground and closer to the flowers he had spied.

His aunt followed slowly, she was still weak from the hard winter, it was a wonder that Kit had made it at all. Her sister had favored him greatly and insisted on nursing him almost until the equinox when her milk had dried up. Favor one, lose the other. It was better to nurture the living child, than the one not yet born. It was hard though. She feared she would lose her sister too; they had all been weakened by the skimpy harvest and harsh winter. Little Kit had picked up rapidly once the cow had calved and there was new milk to be had. His mother had fed him soft cheese and green herbs until his little hands were plump and his cheeks were rosy again. Great Mother willing they wouldn't lose any more people.

C

He felt the rough stone digging into his back, a niggling sensation, trivial really, but at this moment it turned into the focal point for the screaming snarl of pain his existence had become. Somewhere in the past there had been peace and sunshine and yellow flowers dancing in the breeze. Recalling the feeling of his mother spooning fresh cheese into his mouth he flinched as his jaw's muscle-memory twitched, reawakening wounds. The chafing of the stone was preferable.

Cattle die,  
kinsmen die  
you yourself die;  
I know one thing  
which never dies:  
the fate of the honored dead

C

Something would change, the sun would rise or the scavengers would find him. He was grateful. Unlike Prometheus he was not doomed to have his liver torn out by a raptor every day, only for it to mend each night. He had gone beyond his ability to heal. He was grateful. His journey through Hades would be finished, he would be finished, this three part death would be complete. He was grateful.

C

Mama wasn't there any more, neither was the baby. She hadn't been able to look at the flowers he had brought her, not even the pretty blue gentian, or drink the tisane aunty had fixed. She was still, the baby hadn't even made it out of her tummy, her woman place aunty said. That's why men did the fighting, because the danger had to be shared and it was dangerous to make babies. It was right that they all worked together to get the food.

Father had honored her in burial, all her favorite things had been buried with her. Aunty had cried a lot and poured ashes on her head, but he was a big boy and he hadn't cried. Until later.

Father's sister had come from over-the-pass to help. His cousins were all grown and could do without their mother for a while, but after the solstice she would have to go back to her family.

So, there he sat, poking the dirt with a twig; a knee baby with no knee to lean on.2 Waiting for his father to come back. Occasionally one of the servant girls would roughly wash his face and he learned to scramble to get enough to eat. His father had promised him a new mother. In his mind's eye a mother had wide gray eyes and soft partridge feather hair. She would feed him bits of warm buttered barley cake as she cooked. He was bigger now, he could help his new mother, not let her work too hard so she would stay with them.

C

After Corbulo's lumpy minions had stumbled off in search of their promised coin and wine, the watchers backed carefully out of the brambles, softly cursing and hissing as sharp rocks dug into knees and palms. Huddled at the base of the tumult of rocks, they argued.

Slight male: "It would be safer if it were closer to dawn."

Female: "It is wrong to wait, even if he seems to be out of it. Besides, we have to find a place for him to heal."

Broad male: "Look, I'll carry him, you figure out where."

Slight male, dithering: "How do you want to do this?"

Female: "Let's just get our asses up there, we've got rugs and blankets, we'll manage."

Broad male: "Lemme give you a boost, you get him off there and pass him down to me."

Female: "Yuck, poor bastard. OK, let's go – you first, songbird. I'll pass you a blanket."

Broad male: "Idiot" (brushing stone chips out of his hair). "Watch what you are doing!"

Female: "Told you to wear a hat. Here's the blanket, Birdie. Now give me a hand. Horse, don't throw me this time!"

Horse: "Honey, you're so bossy. Makes me want to throw you."

"Puuuuf! Bird spat, Argggh, got a mouthful of that damn dust crawling up here. Let's see if we can get the skewers out of this poor wight." Honey and Bird sidled carefully along the boulder toward the inverted figure, watching for any sign of movement. No matter how brutalized and drained, he could still be lethal.

Honey muttered repetitively, son-of-a-bitch, son-of-a-bitch, son-of-a-bitch, what pigs. Bird, who knew all the laws by heart, focused on certain chapters and verses, trying to remember what crime would merit this punishment, and wondering why it had been meekly endured. Surely one such as the figure before them could have fought to the last drop of blood. He was so far into the laws that he almost missed his next step. Honey snagged his arm at the last moment but his foot sent another dusty shower down on Horse's upturned face as he swung full on into the battered torso.

Horse took over the litany of curses. "Watch what you're fucking doing! Cloud brain!"

Honey grabbed at Bird again to steady him. 'Well, if that didn't get us drained, he must be near gone!'

She bent to examine him. "Foot's gone, those branches were shoved right between the long bones of his leg and arms. Brutal! That beating would have been enough. What'd they use silver? Sure ripped him right up." Honey straightened her back and retied her headcloth.

Bird distracted himself with reciting the applicable laws so he wouldn't have to look too closely. If he pressed his lips tightly together maybe he wouldn't puke.

"Mothers! They pulled his fangs! Even if he got loose, he couldn't feed and heal. Only another vampire would know to do this. She roughly scrubbed at the tears blurring her eyes. Spiteful, vicious, hellspawn. I hope he'll be a good one and we don't have to end him."

"Why did First have to go and get herself staked! Damn! What a mess."

"OK, Bird, I'll support him and you pull the stakes out. Start with the arms, I think, so he doesn't flop over on us. Why'd they hang him upside down, anyway? What kind of offense did he commit?' 'Blasphemy?"

“Nah, Honey, just standard punishment for a Roman slave.”

Bird grabbed one of the lower stakes, praying he wouldn't get a splinter, he hated splinters. "Eww, I'm going to have to wiggle it loose from between the rocks. Mothers, which way would be worse – if we pulled on him or pulled on the stake?"

"Look let's just try getting the branches loose first, if that doesn't work we'll try the other. We are running out of time. He is running out of time, sunrise isn't that far off."

Bird bent over to get ahold of the stick with both hands. Fortunately it had been wedged in at an upwards angle so that when he pulled it was less likely that he would tumble off the ledge. Nasty business, dark blood oozed sluggishly as he jiggled the stick loose. As the first stake came free the vampire whimpered and spasmed. Shit, shit, shit. He felt it! With more fear and more haste, Bird reached across and extracted the second stake more easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matres_and_Matrones
> 
> 2 The main sense seems to be 'a child just old enough to stand unaided; a toddler'. A weanling, as opposed to a nursling or lap baby.


	3. The Crevices of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old memories are preferable to present pain.

The agony billowed up searing his consciousness. Driving him into the crevices of time.

 

Father did not bring back his mother. Her eyes were not gray but snow blue, her hair wasn't soft like feathers but as pale as her eyes and springy. Her mouth was all wrong and tried to kiss him wetly.

She was known for her brewing skills and made a bitter ale with herbs that his father was particularly fond of, as well as being a good and thrifty housewife, so they all were reasonably content.

Until the next summer when the woman's belly swelled and his father decided he was full old enough ('though he was not) to live with his mother's brother; who – lacking a suitable heir – would teach him the ways of his mother's family. A good solution for all concerned, except of course for Kit.

Kit's uncle was the Cos, the elder priest, but was called Cat for his golden gray eyes and stealthy hunting style.

They lived in a small hut further up the mountain,

in the territory of the wildcats

and mountain goats, where

Kit trotted after Uncle learning the ways of wildlife,

the herbs and signs a priest needed to know.

 

Many times they just leaned on a sun warmed rock

and looked.

There was much to be learned once you could see it.

Once they spent the whole morning watching a wild cat

watch them. His uncle was more patient – or

perhaps the cat was hungry,

he certainly had been.

 

Sadness still chilled his heart when they came

across gentians in the spring,

or heard the

spring song of the yellowhammer

,

 

There were no warm barley cakes,

but once in a while women would comewith women's gifts: barley cakes, sometimes soaked in honey; linen; precious soap; and vegetables.  
They would walk and talk with my uncle about what things the Goddess found pleasing:  
What offering to make to her crone aspect for an easy passage for an aged parent,  
which prayers to say over a child for a long life and gifts for the spinner of life-threads for child not yet born.

Woman's worries, uncle said, were the bedrock of life.

Soon Kit began to expect that when certain women brought cakes he would be sent off to check the snares, or to fetch goat milk from a neighbor or pick unusual herbs from the high meadow. When he asked his uncle about it he was only told that there was more than one way to worship the goddess.

From the sleepy contentment on Uncle's face he was sure that it was something to be looked forward to.

Uncle Cat had a wonderful golden goblet with a repousse figure of the Goddess in her cat drawn chariot. Kit was permitted to hold it before Uncle poured a libation of mead to salute the Great Mother. The mead was oh-so sweet and he was given a sip when they asked for blessings.

Oftentimes Kit rubbed his fingers over the wide-eyed cat figures and imagined how proud he would be when he was a priest. Goddesses were immortal and he would be a good and faithful priest, devoted to all her faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The photographs and artwork that were selected do no appear in this format. To see the full spectrum go to http://treewitch703.wordpress.com


	4. Getting To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamli kept himself expressionless as always, still suspicion radiated through him. What did this mixed bag of humans intend? He was, if not exactly helpless, still vulnerable. In his current state he would be far too easy to evade and equally easy to capture.....

The charcoal burner's hut had been a real find. Its main timbers were sound but it _looked_ uninhabitable.

They'd have to know how long they might need to be there.. How long before Elder could travel. Meanwhile they were within striking distance of an old track between settlements and the halfway point on the Roman road which also was intersected by a _viae vicinales_ connecting to a market town to the east _._

All in all a prime location _. With easy pickings. Honey had already been leched after by a wandering slimeball, fortunately, not one that would be missed. She may have led him on, but it was all for the good of the cause. A boon for all womankind when Gamli finished him off in one sitting. Quantity really seemed to help the healing process. There was no way to know how long it would be before his fangs regrew, it was time for an in depth discussion, we all needed to know._

C

The Gamli Tod rose, aware of an unfamiliar place; his gums ached for his missing fangs. Peering, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. One-eyed he was for now and he twisted his body forward and back to take in the room. Something of a hovel, permeated with the scent of old smoke; and yet the bench on which he'd rested was secure enough and there'd been a length of decent linen under him. During his day-death he had been washed and dressed in a clean tunic that smelled of the slight man and the woman. He'd been cared for, but to what end?

A small fire on the meal hearth crackled and licked at the bottom of a pot hanging from a long hook, the scent of herbs and squirrel filled the room. The woman's arm held the door cloth aside as she ducked back into the hut. The small knife swung free on its neck-cord when she bent to retrieve a water skin, her tunic stretched across her hips. Her shadow climbed the wall as she moved further into the hut and the Gamli Tod watched, entranced, as the knife was tucked away. That simple motion released a warm woman scent into the room and suddenly he was slammed with hunger.

She set the water bag to one side and greeted him. “Ahhh, Gamli, you wake. Let me introduce myself, I am called Honey; my companions are my brother-cousins, their by-names are Horse and Bird. They will return soon and you will be able to feed.”

The Gamli nodded but could not stop himself from opening his mouth to fully take in Honey's scent. Vampirism had not only given him fangs in upper jaw but also the root of his vampiric sense of smell; one of the great astonishments of his change – he now scented like a wild thing, facing into the shifting air and exposing his newly sensitive mouth membranes to that richness.

Honey was what he drew across his mouth. Yum, healthy, ripe and clean.

Honey was what he watched as his hunger chewed at his belly. She had a lovely neck, creamy and tender skinned, the pulse measuring her life. He could feel himself coil for a strike, settling his haunches deeper for a powerful spring. He was so very, very hungry.

Honey was aware of the Gamli's focus, a stitch in time, so to speak, might save the situation - and her neck.

“Elder? Are you hungry now? Do you need a little blood to tide you over until my brothers come back?” He nodded cautiously. “Would it be safer for me if it was in a cup?” A pause, and a regretful nod.

“Alright, then, cup it is. It will be better when your mouth heals enough to speak”

She moved closer to the fire where the light was better, picked up a bowl from a stack nearby and retrieved her knife-pendant from between her breasts. Nervously she chattered on as she got ready to fill the bowl. “I'm sure you noticed that we all have a knife pendant, all of the grownups of the Shield clan do.” Honey pierced her right wrist, “ It is a pretty big deal when we get our knives;” holding her arm steadily over the bowl, “some of us choose not to, to move on. My sister left.” she didn't notice Gamli shifting closer, the pupil of his one eye expanding 'till the iris was but a gray rim. “She wanted to marry a boy from one of the villages we passed through, I still miss her.” Honey stroked her arm to get the blood to flow better. “Our vampire, right before she was ended,” he licked his lips unable to resist, and his hand shot forward, seizing hers “… cleared sister's memories of the draugr. Eeeeep! Don't spill!” Honey was just able to rescue the contents of the bowl as Gamli mouthed her wrist.

Placing the bowl carefully on the hearth stone, Honey chided the boy “I was going as fast as I could, I didn't know you were that hungry. Shhh, shhh, be careful now, I don't want to have to remind you with silver.” She held the silver pin in her mouth as she stroked his shoulder with her left hand. Horse and Bird will be back soon, there'll be more for you.

Honey's calm diluted his blood lust; fear and a struggle would have just spun him up into a frenzy. Her hand stroking his back hit a deeper note for him and the herbed food smell, struck an almost imperceptible but plangent reverberation within his deepest memories. There was something there.......his eyelid fluttered as his mind turned inward. Tod the Gamli savored the blood slowly seeping into his mouth; his tongue had healed enough so that the rich flavors were apparent and he was looking forward to getting a sense of the subtleties.

Honey continued to gentle the white one. His ashy skin and gaunt features had gotten better, as yet he couldn't pass for anything _but_ draugr much less a youth in his prime. Surely he had been starved as well as abused. She hoped his actions were due to that and not the madness that sometimes overtook his kind.

Faint noises beyond the hut jostled the balance within. His chest rumbled at the threat to his food source. Tod surged to his knees clutching Honey tightly to his chest, scuttling back into the shadows.

It took every ounce of will for her to remain limp, any further threat at this point and he might break her neck and have done with it.

As the footfalls approached, Honey recognized the deep tones of Horse's voice along with Bird's occasional interjection. “Elder, it is only our friends, I want to see what they brought. I think someone is with them.”

His forearm relaxed slightly, at least she could breathe better; suddenly Tod swept her behind him and took up a defensive position. His growl got louder as Horse dumped an ale soaked countryman on the ground. “He has lice, I'd rather he stay out here. I'll wash after the draugr's done feeding and I've gotten rid of the body.”

The wretch soddenly slumped next to the door and Horse held the door flap while Bird pushed a pack basket into the light.

Bird declared as he moved the basket to one side “a drunk does not a good pickpocket make. He should have stuck to pimping his mother.”

All eyes turned to Gamli, “let us lay him out for you” offered Horse. Honey wriggled forward “Faugh, he reeks, let me give his neck a wash,” turning back to Tod “ you don't want to put your mouth on that!” Bird and Horse rolled their eyes in unison, an odd performance to watch if you were one eyed, thought Tod. An odd luxury too, to worry if his meal were clean.

As he crawled and hitched his way out the door he marveled at the turn his existence had taken. From life to death to the sea change of vampirism. He had expected his fate to play out, that this would be the end, the sacrifice would be sufficient. Yet here he was, prospering within this odd family of strangers.

Honey chattered and fussed at him to pull his tunic off so as not to get lousy. Not that that the little devils could live on him, but they might catch a ride on his clothing. It was serious business keeping the bloodsuckers to a minimum. He smiled to himself. No poaching on his territory!

Horse pulled the limbs straight and Bird turned the head enough to leave clear access to the neck. Glancing up at Tod with raised eyebrows. He inhaled once and wrinkled his nose. Bird apologized: “Sorry, Gamli, but he kind of volunteered.” With which, Bird slipped his knife free and plunged it deeply into the thief's neck.[](http://treewitch703.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/elder-gamli-tod2.jpg)

Tod half-smiled and shrugged; oh, well, food was food. He could be pickier once he had healed.

As Horse was dragging the body off, Honey hitched closer to wipe his face. “Tch, tch, I guess when your tongue is restored this will be a bit tidier. Tch! Your eye is looking much better, it is a wonder how

you heal. I rather thought it might seem scarred but your eye socket looks like a new born kitten's, 

not quite filled in yet and that gash in your cheek muscle is naught but a dimple. May I see your arms?”

The Gamli extended his arms. The reforming joints didn't ache so much if he wasn't thinking about them; he only thought about his hands when he reached for something. Which was too often. Even more frequently he missed his foot, he missed running like the wind.

She grasped each forearm in turn, stroking gently, feeling for the little wrist bones. “Better, much better!” she said with a brilliant smile.

“And your foot?” The warmth from her hands actually eased the pain and he closed his eye briefly. “Does that help?”

Tod dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“

I'll do it more often then.” 

_Gamli kept himself expressionless as always, still suspicion radiated through him. What did this mixed bag of humans intend? He was, if not exactly helpless, still vulnerable. In his current state he would be far too easy to evade and equally easy to capture._


	5. Introduction - Part the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three adventurers rescue our battered hero. Will they survive Getting to Know Each Other?

Honey hugged the torso tightly at the waist, taking up the weight. “Pity I don't know the guy better, it might be more fun to have my face in his balls.”

“Quit with the humor, Honey, and hold him up.”

“I'm just trying not to think about what might happen if he wakes up and decides to have a snack.” She grunted as she shifted him higher so Bird could get more play in the branch.

Finally after much shuffling of positions and bracing of legs the vampire could be lowered to Horse's waiting hands and before the two could slide down the side of the boulder in another cloud of chalky dust, Bird carefully wedged the stakes back into the crevices.

Now what? Both Horse and Bird looked to Honey for direction. Honey stared at the reassembled crucifix and slid her eyes to Bird. Smart.

Now we backtrack to that slip we saw earlier, the one that knocked over all those trees. Betcha we can find a secure spot to wait out the daylight. And it is right past that rill where we can get some of this dust off – even find out what our prize looks like. Hope we found a good one, I'm tired of looking.

It had been foretold. His uncle the priest had given him the vision-mead and he had been told to dream of his future, dream of his true name. He dreamt of death. He dreamt of the threefold death. His true name was death. Tod.

C

Horse trudged patiently, for he was by nature a patient man, while Bird counted off the mile markers and ruminated aloud on what ill fortune had befallen their prize. Why had his foot and fangs been taken, before he had been beaten and crucified? A runaway slave? Who could enslave a vampire? Had he fed on someone's pet? What had he stolen? Had he drained another vampire's pet? It was their privilege and responsibility to know about vampires, but it seemed as though they didn't know enough. Were these signs that this was a dangerous rogue? Wouldn't he have just been ended? Aaargh!

Reassuringly Honey patted his back, “We'll just have to be cautious until we find out his temper. I don't think he's going anywhere soon. If he's crazed enough to go after us, well then we'll have to start looking again.”

C

if high on a tree /

I see a hanged man swing /

So do I write and color the runes /

That forth he fares /

And to me talks. 1

C

This is how his life unfolded:

He had sinned against his Gods. The the advent of the Romans had pushed him into the priesthood before he was truly a man; as a warrior-priest he had battled against them. He had been reft from his clan when he had been branded a slave. He had sinned against his gods, particularly Eostre,2 when his master had used him like a woman. For that he deserved death. He had been defiled for three years. Until he was stolen by the draugr Semni.

Then he was death, but not death. He killed, but not in battle as a warrior-priest should. He killed to eat. As an unclean murderer of the defenseless, he deserved death.

Ancient Semni, liked pretty boys and she liked diversity; wherefore Spurius Corbulo Valgus, plucked from the drift of procurators. A pretty boy to be sure but cruel in his perceived Roman superiority. He sneered at his singular name, albeit Death.

C

Horse trudged patiently, for he was by nature a patient man, while Bird counted off the mile markers and ruminated aloud on what ill fortune had befallen their prize. Why had his foot and fangs been taken, before he had been beaten and crucified? A runaway slave? Who could enslave a vampire? Had he fed on someone's pet? What had he stolen? Had he drained another vampire's pet? It was their privilege and responsibility to know about vampires, but it seemed as though they didn't know enough. Were these signs that this was a dangerous rogue? Wouldn't he have just been ended? Aaargh!

Reassuringly Honey patted his back, “We'll just have to be cautious until we find out his temper. I don't think he's going anywhere soon. If he's crazed enough to go after us, well, then we'll have to start looking again.”

C

Honey, who was so called because of the color of her hair, not her temper, stared disconsolately at the dusty strands that kept falling in her eyes, begging for the opportunity to get the grit out of her bits – which was most uncomfortable – and out of her hair so she could spend some time untangling it. What joy! She sighed and shifted the bed rolls she was carrying while Bird rolled his shoulders under the packs of provisions. Horse had started breathing heavily as soon as they were moving back into the foothills, as the sky lightened they pushed even harder grateful that they could see a little more than the pale stones of the road.

Bird raised his head – “I smell water, thanks be to whatever watches over travelers in these parts.” Soon enough they could hear the plash and gurgle and moved with more energy in that direction.

“Here Bird, help me put this fella down. Shit! You didn't have to dump him in the water.”

“Well it's not like he's gonna drown, I'm tired too Horse.”

“Lightweight!”

Meanwhile Honey had shucked her clothes, shaken them out and flopped down in the water next to the body reaching up to unfasten her hair cloth. “We've got to call him something, it seems disrespectful.” She dunked her hair cloth in the stream and began to scrub the vampire. “He's not healing, he'll need a lot of blood. Another good reason to take it slow.”

“Oooooh, look how young he looks, what you think Horse? How old d'you think he was?”

“Seventeen, eighteen, maybe.” Horse crinkled his brow, thinking, “ He's got all those tattoos, must mean something, priest maybe. Bird?”

“Yeah, maybe. Further south and east, for sure, Raetian? Caught up by the Romans alongside one of their pushes for the Limes. Nothing is settled over there, always skirmishes.”

C

“Move, I need to rinse off too.” Bird flapped his tunic to get rid of some of the dust.

Honey scrambled out of the water, having had enough of the chill and fearing the approach of dawn. She wrung her hair out, muttering that that was going to be a job and a half, and slicking the moisture off her flanks and arms. She figured she'd wash the clothes later. Right now she wanted to get It under cover. Unrolling one of the bedrolls she uncovered a length of linen and a roughly woven blanket. Figuring that the linen would dry soon enough she laid it on top of the blanket and motioned to the men to hurry. “C'mon, she demanded,” as she tied her sandals back on, “finish up. Lay him out on here and I'll figure out where we can tuck him away.” She scrambled across the canted meadow into the trees, bare limbs glimmering in the new dawn.

Quickly she rejoined them to help roll It up into the blanket, scooped up the rest of the bed rolls and trotted back across the hill face and wiggled into the dead-falls.

Horse stood waiting while Bird investigated the resting place of the largest of the trees. It looked as though time had undercut the root mass of the mossy giant and when it had toppled it had taken much of the grove with it, like a ruler in defeat taking his people with him.

“Psst! Horse! Bring It this way! The old tree has a space down by the root ball, we can tuck It towards the back, he'll be safe enough there. Maybe we should feed him before we sleep. He won't be too frisky this close to dawn.”

The deadfall was more than one season old; there were gaps where wildlife had pushed through and bedded down in safety. Yet it was far enough from the road and habitation not to have been stripped for firewood. In short an ideal place to bury a body and hole up for a day.

As sunrise silvered the eastern sky over the old mountains Bird slipped back into the passage through the tangled branches; Horse, carrying what was left of the body, stooped to follow.

Honey brought up the rear carefully rearranging branches and sweeping behind them with aromatic herbs. She was trying to out-fox the wolves by shifting the greenery she used; first rosemary and artemesia on the hillside, thyme on the rock-face and finally cedar in the tangled deadfall. She begged three-natured Artemis that the camphorous southern-wood blew the hell out of their pursuer's sinuses. If nothing else Honey could use the rosemary and thyme to flavor a meal and the southern-wood to keep the bugs off.

“Bird! You are such a weenie! Stop making those faces. I'll go first, 'sides I want Horse to hold on to him if anything happens. Help me get It arranged on Horse's lap – you hold his head up. Bird!”

Honey wiggled closer to Horse until she could easily extend her wrist over It's mouth -what there was left of it. Washing had revealed the profound damage that had been done to his face. One eye was almost certainly a loss, the cheek had been sliced open, there were gaps where once there had been fangs. Mother!

“Bird! Tip his head so the blood doesn't go running out the other side. OK, that'll do it.” Honey sucked air through her teeth as she used her bone handled knife to pierce her wrist and maneuvered it to drip into his mouth. “Bird! See if you can get him to swallow! C'mon, c'mon, guy. Swallow!”

Its remaining eyelid fluttered, there was a faint movement of his throat, a pause, a definite swallow, a tentative jaw motion. Honey raised her elbow to help the flow, caught Horse's gaze and indicated that she was going to offer her wrist directly. Figuring she might as well while he was still weak, they'd have a fighting chance if he got rowdy.

Ready to retreat, Honey deepened the cut to nick the radial artery and tentatively lowered her her arm to the vampire's mouth. Vampire rescue for beginners, SOP, an important lesson for those of her lineage.

It was good that she had been practicing first response with Horse and Bird ever since they were little. Each cadre practiced together since situations would call for a unified response and they would keep step with each other as they aged. Long suffering Bird was training as the skald, learning their clan's history; patient Horse would eventually be a master craftsman and she would lead the healers and herbalists. If she ever got her temper under control. Soon, Mother willing, they would have completed their mission and return with a new vampire for the clan. They would have completed their quest and be counted as adults, with a full say in the affairs of the clan.

Bird and Honey flashed each other smiles as It latched on and started to draw blood. Even stolid Horse looked happy. Their timing was pretty good too. Their new vampire stopped sucking and looked apprehensively in the direction of the sunrise; they promptly shuffled deeper into the protection of the roots. Even the brightening day could not penetrate behind the torn up earth around the root ball. The three nodded to each other; Horse unburdened himself of the body, Honey untied her bedroll, and Bird helped her roll up their prize. All three wrestled the limp package into the recesses under the trunk, settling themselves in a protective barrier against the light. The smell of earth mould and dirt mixed with the fading scent of the herbs and hard pressed bodies.

“Gawds, we need a real bath.” came a voice from the darkness. “But first we sleep” answered the woman.”

Daylight brought birdsong, heat, bugs and grumbling stomachs to remind them that supper hadn't happened. Knuckling their eyes and blowing in annoyance they crawled out of the hoorah's nest that had sheltered them and made their ways to various points of relief.

Honey grumbled, as always, looking for the perfect slope, mossy by preference, where she could pee without splashing her shoes. Jealously she watched Horse scratch his belly pissing a great arc with no worry. Ha! He missed and he'd be cleaning his own boots

Honey was the first to dig through the supplies to locate the grain she had put to soak last night. Wet leather wasn't anyone's favorite flavor, but there it was. Besides she had a few herbs and a pinch of salt set aside that they could celebrate with. Soon they had rustled around, dug out their bowls and contentedly chewed porridge. It would've been nicer hot, but the herbs helped.

After a quick discussion Bird squatted to unslot his his rabbit sticks from his pack; with a jerk of his chin he signaled that he would be hunting and vanished into the brush seeking a few of his namesakes for day-meal. If they were to be feeding a vampire, they needed meat. Honey gathered up clothing (thanks be that they didn't have to get dressed to do laundry or to hunt), left Horse sorting through his pack and scouted out part of the stream that would not be visible from the road. She'd just have to keep her ears open for the occasional traveler. There would be plenty of greens she could gather this time of year while the clothes soaked for a bit. Her hair would dry on the way back to their camp. Clean clothes, clean hair, what could be better.

Honey roughly replaited her hair as she wandered back towards the deadfall, stopping to murmur to Horse “Looked like there was wide spot in the stream where it changes course, it'll be a good place to wash. Would you start a fire when you get back? I think I saw some elderberries on the other side, nettles and lamb's quarters for sure. We'll have enough to eat.” Forthwith Honey ducked back under the sheltering spruces to retrieve a basket that would do to carry the greens.

Horse rose and thoughtfully stared in the direction of the water “Maybe some river crabs further down. I'll keep an eye out for travelers while I fish.”

Honey cocked her eye up at Horse, “ Bring one of those too, the old one is going to want feeding again.”

She waited in the shadows, her nose twitched taking in the scents of the rocky slope ahead of her while her eyes traced the nearby watercourse. There were birches down there where it deepened, but that was within eyeshot of the road. Later she would venture in that direction to get some birch twigs. She was almost out, everything tasted nasty when she didn't have a chance to clean her teeth.

It took a moment to unpin her brooch and make sure it was safely tucked in her belt-purse; Horse'd kill her if she lost it. It was the first spring-pin he'd made, a gift for her first menses. She loved him dearly, but even then didn't think she was destined for a warm husband and tumbling children. Leaving her stola (just like a stole – but a general all purpose garment for women) at the camp Honey started across the meadow to gain the greens and elderberries growing close to the water. The tangy scent of early strawberries stopped her … crouching, and following her nose, she discovered and ate drop after crimson drop.

Perfectly ripe! They hadn't tasted fresh fruit since last fall. Wait till she told the guys that even though the elderberries weren't ready, there were strawberries.

C

Horse ventured in the opposite direction, past the bend in the stream then where it tumbled over the footling rock ridge, swirling into deeper eddies before it elbowed out into a water meadow. A thick stand of alders hid the meadow from the road letting Horse feel safe enough to poke around a bit in the water. Belt, boots and tunic set to one side, he first investigated the calm water past the eddies. Just as he suspected there was a flurry of fins escaping his feet. “Later, my friends later.” and he lay back for a nice soak. The sun had slid over to the west by the time Horse roused, it shone directly in his eyes sparkling ferociously off the water. Honey would be maaad! He was supposed to start a fire for their night-meal. Horse took time to give himself a scrub and look for the right wood that would produce a smokeless fire.

“Haaaah, the best laid plans would be interrupted!” Apparently this half-way point between the guard towers attached to Castra Vetera on the Via Agrippa was a popular spot with the local ruffians. At least the sounds of a scuffle, the nasty reverberation of a thunk and the irate braying of a mule seemed to indicate that that was the case. After which there were a series of grunts, muffled curses, perdat ... gravidus! And quite a splash on the other side of the alders. This commotion was followed by a flicker of motion near the road and the clatter of the fleeing mule.

“Let's see what Fortune has brought our way. Not another serving of trouble, I hope.”

Lying in the shallows just this side of the little bridge was a large wobbly looking man, mostly face up, that was a piece of luck...and the brigands had left his shorts on.

Horse slip-slid his way downstream over the slick rocks to see what he could salvage of the situation.

Very little, apparently. The man was wealthy, probably an official or a merchant, was in the sense that he no longer had the trappings of wealth, just the ridges and pale areas where armbands and rings once rode; now he neither officiated nor traded anything. His life had been soft, nothing about his arms or shoulders spoke of labor, his skin and hands looked meticulously buffed and scented. Now he gently rose and fell in the ripples, the water smoking crimson from his wounds.

He'd have to get the firewood later, right now he had to buggy-lug another body. He wondered why four footed horses put up with it.

While the rabbit baked with some wild garlic and thyme they sat about chatting and mending clothing. Something always needed to be mended. Horse worked at a boot strap, Bird cleaned the rabbit skin, and Honey was going through their clothing looking for something for It to wear. Slaves went naked to be sold and she didn't want to send the wrong message. Woman's tunics were too long and 'sides she didn't want to waste the fabric.

She kept cutting her eyes over to Bird's pack, suspecting there might be an extra tunic in there. Bird caught her speculative gaze and groaned. “Why me Honey, why is it always me?”

“Because you're about the right size! Bird! Horse is twice the Elder's width and half again his height. Besides, don't you have an old one that needs mending?”

“Alright, but you have to do the mending....and on my cloak too.”

Honey huffed exasperatedly, and why do I always get stuck doing the mending?

“'Cause you're gooood at it!”

Leaves rustled, pine boughs sighed, the travelers bickered, the rabbit was unearthed in a cloud of savor, fingers were burnt as the day-meal was eaten. Horse got half since he was so big. Honey put more grain to soak and warm along side of the fire for the night-meal.

Finally the air dimmed with sunset. They had agreed that tonight they would try to tame the Vampire. Ha! More easily said than done, but so far fortune had favored them.

C

Below the fading sky and stark branches a miniscule fire presented the three in chiaroscuro, only the fading snore of the tax collector interrupting the crickets.

“ The draugr should rise with this new dark, Hel grant that the body stays fresh long enough.” Bird cocked his head listening to the wet breathing coming from the shadows.

“I think the light has dimmed enough. Let's bring him out, I don't fancy wresting with one of the pale ones, starving as he is. Since I've always been called Horse, I guess, as always, it's my job to buggy lug!”

“Tch!, just leave him on the blanket and we can all slide him out.”

There was a tangle while extracting their prize. Confusion reigned, Honey spilled back onto her butt after an especially vigorous tug; Bird kicked duff into the fire, causing it to flare; Horse's face got raked by a branch which started to bleed.

“Way to go, Horse! Cover that scratch!”

“Oh, Sirona* – here he comes!”

The bone white, horribly battered figure, lurched in the direction of the blood scent, but he was so crippled that his strike fell short. Honey whipped out one of her silver topped hair pins and held it to his face. He froze wide eyed, lip curled, teeth exposed, his attention fixed on the trickling blood.

Bird was the first to react, scuffling over towards the tax man.

“He needs to feed, now. Give us a hand then, Horse. Let's see if we can get this one on a slope.”

Honey had pulled the silver bit away from the old one's face, watching him heal slowly. She cautiously reached out to catch his attention, and he jerked in her direction but at least didn't snap.

“What is your language Elder?”

His eyes, pupils totally dilated, had swerved back towards the scent of blood.

“Elder?”

“Elder? We will feed you now.” A shift, and now an absolute focus on Honey's throat.

“We were lucky, for your first feed, we were able to get a whole tax man. He is very fat, there is enough blood to restore your strength.”

The Elder swiveled in the direction of the body being positioned on the other side of the fire, pudgy feet pointing uphill, arms and knees flexed inward, breath rasping erratically. A convulsive lunge and a writhing belly crawl brought his teeth within reach of the body. Jaws fastened and began to tear at a fleshy upper arm.

Horse unsheathed the small blade he carried “We will help you, Elder. Let us make the first cut, it will be easier”

The vampire reflexively snarled and snapped as Honey shifted him crosswise the fading human while Horse reached across the neck to plunge the small blade next to the carotid. Another lunge and the dragur was vigorously drawing at the wound.

The three sat back watching the vampire heal. It was remarkable to see his skin fill out, lose its sepulchral pallor, his wounds close. Honey felt a soft purr vibrate through the Elder's chest and glanced up to see if her companions had heard it. Bird grinned, and Horse's eyes crinkled with pleasure.

“We'll have to tell our tutors that all those drills in vampire rescue really worked. We've always been the best team.” They listened to the crickets, waiting.

C

Even though his stomach had been filled the draugr drew even more strongly, it was a new joy to be able to drink past satiation. His head lolled back, dozy like a babe at his mother's teat. He was brought back to himself by a question from the female.

“Elder? Elder?”

The former purr escalated into a growl as he realized how impotent he actually was. Fangless, half blind, amputee, with silver contaminated wounds. At their mercy. Bridled by a young female! Not powerful, perhaps, at this point, not even immortal, weak! Dependent!

“Elder? May we call you 'Gamli', our elder?”

Dependent on these humans! He nodded his assent. Gamli it was. For now. He could bide his time.

“Gamli? We need to move out, find another place for you to rest.” Bird thinks there will be a charcoal burner's cottage higher up, on the other side of the meadow. There are a couple of old roads up past there and we'll still be close enough to the Via Agrippa to take advantage of the traffic. We will feed you”

He thought Bird must be the slight male, the one who tipped his head while observing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The footnote refers to the Tarot Card the Hanged Man and its similarities to our hero  
> 1
> 
> In his book The Pictorial Key to the Tarot, A. E. Waite, the designer of the Rider-Waite tarot deck, wrote of the symbol:
> 
> The gallows from which he is suspended forms a Tau cross, while the figure—from the position of the legs—forms a fylfot cross. There is a nimbus about the head of the seeming martyr. It should be noted (1) that the tree of sacrifice is living wood, with leaves thereon; (2) that the face expresses deep entrancement, not suffering; (3) that the figure, as a whole, suggests life in suspension, but life and not death. [...] It has been called falsely a card of martyrdom, a card a of prudence, a card of the Great Work, a card of duty [...] I will say very simply on my own part that it expresses the relation, in one of its aspects, between the Divine and the Universe.
> 
> 2Eostre is a fertility goddess, her season is spring, her symbols are eggs and rabbits. It is a sin against her not to procreate, but once that duty has been taken care of what you do on you own time for amusement is your affair.
> 
> *:
> 
> In Celtic mythology, Sirona was a goddess worshipped predominantly in East Central Gaul and along the Danubian limes. A healing deity, she was associated with healing springs; her attributes were snakes and eggs. She was sometimes depicted with Apollo Grannus or Apollo Borvo. She was particularly worshipped by the Treveri in the Moselle Valley. wikipedia


	6. Sign Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unemotionally the Elder, Tod, watched Horse and Bird dispose of the husk that had been the pickpocket. He had two solid belly-fulls of blood in as many days and could afford the luxury of questions.....

..... The Gods that watched over these children wanted him for their own purposes. Perhaps for a while he could slip through the cracks in the world and lay there unnoticed while he gathered his wits.

He felt Honey watching him, she didn't move or pull away when he ran what was left of his hand over her hair. Petting her soothed him. Finally, settled in his mind, he turned and roughly breathed “Why?” He could manage that word, it didn't need much tongue.

“Why?” Honey repeated. “Why are we here or why are we helping you?” she shrugged, “both questions have the same answer.”

“Long and long ago our fore-bearers came upon a gravely wounded draugr. She thought to bargain with these odd humans who showed neither fear nor hate for her kind.” Honey took several breaths while she ordered the tale. “As fortune would have it they had common speech and soon found common ground. They (my people) had been driven from their ancestral grounds by the movement of the Germani from the East and pushed right into the arms of the Romans. Many of us were killed during these clashes and once our leaders learned the true might and ambition of Rome it was decided that our family's weal would be better served elsewhere. Therefore when we had found a quiet valley, set back from a great river several month' journey to the west, we settled there”

Elder raised his brow as if to inquire:  _and what does this have to do with the price of eggs?_

“Eh, I'm getting to that.” Honey shifted, so that she was leaning more comfortably against the wall. “Our wanderers brought the dragur back to our settlement so she could safely heal. She found ways to repay our people for their care; we all grew to understand that each helped the other. If we were attacked she would fly to our defense and we would offer blood and shelter as she needed them. Unfortunately her nature would occasionally stir her to both restlessness and dissatisfaction with the quiet life we led; off she'd go looking for excitement, battles and new blood to taste.”

“Our Lady Elder would return each solstice. In high summer we provided a safe resting place during the long days, new babies for her to dandle and smell (she loved to sit of an evening with the newest on her lap, rubbing her face in their soft hair), we were full of the bright season and happy to share blood. It was also the season when the war bands liked to roam....and whoosh, zip, suuuooop no more war band. Very good for all of us.”

“During the Winter Solstice Lady Elder would stop in to recount stories of her adventures, of the cities she had hunted, the people she had tasted. It was all very exciting and we would gather to listen to her stories.”

Each pause, was punctuated by the crackling from the small meal fire. Tod listened in wonder,  _this must have been an old one playing a very long game_ .

“ Each solstice we made sure our Lady had a little blood from each of us, so we would be part of her and she would carry us with her. In turn we would each (even the babies) have a drop of her blood so that she was with us always and could call us if she needed us. We were her shield, she was our sword.”

C

Meanwhile Horse and Bird had returned from their errand, were crouched by the fire and raptly listening. They had heard the story innumerable times, but nonetheless it still stirred them.

Tod motioned with his arm and raised his brow again.  _A bond? A bond with a whole clan? Must have been a very old one for it not to have lit the flames of madness. A very old one with a new way of being in the world._

Honey looked to the other side of the fire “Bird is still working on the next bit, so he'd better tell it.”

C

“Aahummm.” and sagged backed onto his butt. “Not yet tongue-smooth, but I've got the bare bones. When Our Lady ventured out to glean (during the last of the war season but before the Winter's celebration) a glutted troop of reavers happened upon her day-rest. The cavern was plundered of her treasure and she thrown out into the light of the day star.

_Whilst whetting the weapons_

_staving off cold and hunger_ _for their Lady defender/defended._

_A seethe of strangers_

_for mischief trespassed, harvested the harvester, sporting, shattered the sword, leaving the heart_

_and shield unweaponed, bereft._

Pbbblt, I don't have it right yet, I'll need a whole winter to get it to fit properly.

_E'en milky mouthed babes mourned_

_the loss of the gracious Lady,_

_wailed the loss of the first suckled blood._

_No succor for pained and ailing elders_ ,

“We all felt her passing, three of our oldest died then and there of broken hearts. These were the folk who had rescued her so long ago and had been well kept by Elder's blood. The rest fell to the ground, no matter where they stood, to mourn and weep the loss.

“We were over young to be sent on such a venture as this; routes needed to be plotted. Therefore it wasn't the next summer but the one following that we were sent out.”

Tod's eye swept their faces. His whole body twisted to catch Honey in his limited vision. He spread his arms wide, encompassing the group, and breathed “Why?”.

Horse, attuned to body language, raised his brows in turn, “Why us?”.  
The pale features dipped in affirmation.

Succinctly Horse explained: “Our leaders were hale and firmly in place. We will not be needed to take over the reins of our clan for many years. There are also others, younger, who could take our places. It was also deemed proper that we should prove ourselves in the world; to complete a quest, to prove our worth. So we are here.

“It would also serve as my journeyman venture, wherever we stop I could practice my craft and learn new techniques.”

“There are different herbs and approaches to healing along our route.” was Honey's comment “ways of growing things I can learn.”

“There is nothing like singing for coin to sharpen my talents! The stories I'll bring back will keep me in material for the rest of my life!” preened Bird, scratching under his arm.

Horse shivered, Honey got to her feet. “It is late and we need to get clean, I will bring the soap.”

Horse knelt and gestured to the Elder to scramble up to his back and hang on. With his hands linked behind him he held Tod securely, Bird leading the way. Down to the water, where they stripped off into the water, and settled in, shifting until their butts found spots that were not too rocky.

Once Bird and Horse had palmed up some soap, Honey grabbed the jar, tipped out a generous puddle into her hand and stroked it into Tod's hair.  _Ohhhh, Great Mother, he hadn't felt anything like it in centuries. He'd washed and been washed but never with care. That's the feeling, someone cared. Almost as if he belonged with these people. He hadn't been part of anything or belonged anywhere since his last battle. His shoulders, his arms, his chest firmly massaged. Cherished, he felt cherished. No wonder the last dragur had bonded with them._

Elder let his head droop as he relaxed and Honey settled him back against her breasts, holding him in place by tucking her feet under his knees while she tended her own hair. He slipped into down-time until she asked him if he would like to lie out flat for a while. At his nod Honey guided his shoulders downwards until he was resting against the bottom and his hair waved in the current.

Bird and Horse were done splashing each other and floated quietly; Honey made sure their clothes were completely submerged and safely tethered before she lay back holding on to a protruding branch. Let the stream rinse her hair and evict any passengers she'd picked up.  _Soooo goood._ They all thought as the water chuckled around them.

C

The moon light was fitful, dancing with the wandering clouds. Restless Bird was the first to move working his way upstream and nudging Horse. “C'mon, c'mon, I'm getting cold. Let's get out, I bet our porridge is ready. Honey! C'mon.”

Honey helped Tod up to his knees, slicking the water off of him with the side of her hand. Still slippery, Horse took a firm grip on the Pale One and hoisted him up onto his back. All four dripped and dribbled their way up to the stream bank, Honey wrung out her hair but Bird merely shook himself before bending to peer at the clothes.

“They are going to have to stay there overnight, just to be sure. I loathe bugs. They bite and knock me off pitch at just the wrong time! It's bad enough in the winter when you _have_ to put up with them.”

“Foo, Bird” admonished Honey “ we'll just pick up another set of critters next market day. Some things are just going to happen. Deal with it.”

Their pale bodies slid in and out of the shadows as they threaded their way back to their shelter. The porridge was indeed done and soon shared out. Bird was still restless, humming odd snatches of tunes. Honey combed the tangles out of her hair with a wide toothed wooden comb, and while it dried tended to Tod's. He smelled nice. She wanted to rub her face on his shoulder.

“Ya, know Bird-brain, I think our friend here understands runes, you might try him on that set you carry.” As she stood Honey wrapped herself in her stola “I'm for bed, you'll stay up, Bird?”

He nodded absently as he untied the ditty bag he used for the rune stones and spilled the shapes into the firelight. Soon he and the Elder had moved closer together and were sliding the rune stones back and forth in sketchy conversation. 

C

Bird learned that his people had called him Tod, or Death; but wasn't sure if it was because he was thought to be an incarnation of death or a priestly judge or both.

Tod indicated with a wave of his arm that he had come from the south and east, Raetian then, from the time they had been struggling against Roman incursions or grimly holding on to their profitable trade routes. When he gestured towards the upright arrow rune for the warrior  t Bird knew he'd fought the Romans.

The next rune pushed into the light was  e ;  Tod lifted his chin in the direction of the hut where Horse slept, Bird chuckled.

Frowning they stirred the runes, occasionally glancing towards the shadowed interior. Tod raised one eyebrow when Bird picked up the rune y meaning bountiful harvest. There was a moment's pause while each waited for the other to react, almost simultaneously they roared with laughter.

C

By the time they had worked out that rough system of signs they were both tired and ready for a lie down. Bird banked the fire for Honey to stir to life in the morning and helped Tod into the darkest recesses of the shelter. 

Horse and Honey were already sprawled out on the bench along the far wall, the Elder worked his way closer to the back, Bird found a slot for himself alongside Honey and Horse; by dawn Tod would have disappeared into the shadows. He sighed as he lay in the dark, tired, finally, wrapped in his cloak, tumbled into sleep.

_These people were almost as clean as the Romans_ _**and** _ _they didn't use that disgusting fish sauce. Altogether they smelled much better. Healthy but distinctly other. Now that he'd heard their story he was able to tease out the faint vampiric thread to each scent. Their vampire was gone, none would object if he were to claim them._

_Bird had a light odor somehow grassy and a little musky at the same time; Horse was, well, Horse, clean sweat and hard driven metal, perhaps some of the camphor-ish southern wood he packed in his satchel; Honey, mmmm, Honey, woman smell, yes but herbs too, sage and lavender – Chamomile?_

_How strange, he craved these odors, to suck them in and absorb them almost as if they were part of his craving for blood._

He shifted himself closer to Honey and nuzzled into the hair at the nape of her neck. Then stealthily slipped his arm around her middle and pulled her close to his belly. She roused enough to reach across and flip her stole to cover both of them then snuggled her butt into the bend of his hips. The vampire was absolutely stunned! It had been years! Not one to pass up an opportunity, he went to his day death bathing in her warm scent.

_%_


	7. A Wyrd Thing - Part 1, To Market To Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Market, To Market  
> Horse and Honey had rummaged around, industriously shaping their morning. Bird wouldn't rise until after noon and until then they hunted out greens, herbs and a few river crabs for day meal.  
> Horse was bemoaning the lack of ale to go with the crustaceans and Honey's thoughts were a bit grumpy since she hadn't found the herbs she'd wanted to use. The last of the butter and some chopped sorrel would have to do...we have enough to trade if we go to market tomorrow. We'll get some butter and more grain then.
> 
> While Honey was cutting the greens into a pot Horse groaned when he flopped down on the other side of the fire.  
> “Why didn't I move that rock before I sat on it, ach!” He reached into his belt purse to snake out the strip of leather he used to keep his hair out of his eyes. “If we are going to market tomorrow I'll have this comb finished. That's three, I've done, plus the knives.”

To Market, To Market  
Horse and Honey had rummaged around, industriously shaping their morning. Bird wouldn't rise until after noon and until then they hunted out greens, herbs and a few river crabs for day meal.  
Horse was bemoaning the lack of ale to go with the crustaceans and Honey's thoughts were a bit grumpy since she hadn't found the herbs she'd wanted to use. The last of the butter and some chopped sorrel would have to do...we have enough to trade if we go to market tomorrow. We'll get some butter and more grain then.

While Honey was cutting the greens into a pot Horse groaned when he flopped down on the other side of the fire.  
“Why didn't I move that rock before I sat on it, ach!” He reached into his belt purse to snake out the strip of leather he used to keep his hair out of his eyes. “If we are going to market tomorrow I'll have this comb finished. That's three, I've done, plus the knives.” Horse also dug out a strip of metal he liked to use to shape the wood he was working on. It wasn't very big, maybe a hand's width; when he'd forged it, he'd raised little spines along the end, made sure one side was very straight and the spiny end had a nice curve to it. All in all he could use the little tool to fashion many things, from spoons to combs. Very handy.  
Honey fingered her cloak pin as she though about his quiet ingenuity. She watched him smooth the back of the comb as she sorted dried herbs into pouches. Soon the little animals in the brush became accustomed to their presence and resumed their lives, scurrying and rustling through the duff.

She'd found a good stand of woundwort near the stream, now that it was dry she could crumble the leaves into a pouch along with shredded willow bark as a help for arthritis, into another with valerian and chamomile for a tisane to bring sleep and yet another with a bit of fever-few for headaches.“Horse, love, would you keep an eye out for something I can use for a mortar? I still have that pestle you made, but the mortar was too heavy to shift.” Honey retied her head cloth more securely before leaning forward to stir the pot again.  
“Ummmmhmmmm.” Never one for too many words, Horse. She smiled fondly at him.

Yawning and scratching, Bird stumbled out of the hut and stood there for a moment blinking before wandering off. “Gah! You piss like a horse!” Honey yelled in his direction.  
“Shhhh, I was up all night with our guest. By the way, his name is Tod.”

“His name is Death? What else did you find out?”  
The only reply was splashing from the direction of the small nearby rivulet.  
Bird came back, his hair dripping, and settled down to bring some order to his person.  
Through the cloth he was rubbing over his head and face was heard indistinctly “Raetian, like we thought. His maker is gone, apparently; before she disappeared she bound him to his blood brother. He's the one who crucified and maimed him”  
“Dear sweet mother, does he still exist?”  
“Dunno. Tod can't feel him.”  
The three stared somberly at each other.  
Horse pronounced the verdict: “Something we have to take care of.”  
%

When Bird and Honey had set out that morning determined to find a market place to do a little bartering; their best bet seemed to be a guard post a little to the north and west. Horse hoped that the legionaries manning the post would be interested in the combs and knives he had made. Some of them were into native crafts. There were sure to be takers for the dried herb mixes that Honey had brought. She said she wanted to get more grain for porridge and salt. Horse hoped there would be cheese; he liked cheese.

As soon as Horse had tidied up and had enough wood put by for the meal fire he decided to take advantage of the light and work on a knife handle. This time he was going to keep it simple, and not get all involved with the deer and the flowers; that took forever and he didn't get enough for it.  
As he dug through his pack he found a really nice bit of horse bone that he had been saving; it would be quiet today, he could concentrate. Ya, he was ready for this kind of project. The oak on the edge of the clearing looked like a good spot, he'd have the shade and he'd be able to keep an eye out.  
Where had he been when Honey and Bird had dragged a log up here? Was it yesterday afternoon? Hmmm, fishing then. Another quiet occupation that suited him.  
After his tools were arranged just so, his blanket folded for maximum seating comfort; the bone was laid out on a couple of leather scraps right next to the waiting knife. He'd already put divots into the side of the knife tang that would seat the rivets, so all he needed to do is measure the bone, drill some rivet holes and work a bit of design around them.  
Horse hummed as he unrolled the leather around his carving tools. Making them had been one of his first projects as a smith, it was funny how a piece of metal could hold memories.   
A small breeze picked up, setting the sunlight and shadows dancing across his tools. Horse selected an awl to scratch measurements into the bone.  
As the sun lifted closer to mid-heaven the little breeze faded but it wasn't until sweat trickled down into his eyes that Horse lost focus.   
“Tchaaa!” he huffed as he stiffly stood and stretched, batting at the gnats that hovered. Horse plucked at the sweaty cloth stuck to his belly, finally he gave up and tugged the tunic over his head. A rough snap of his wrists shook free the bone chips and dust before he spread it out over a bush to dry. He'd wash later, right now he should eat and drink before he went back to the knife. Reluctantly he entered the hut in search of some leftover porridge.

C

Earlier that day Bird, with his lyre slung over his shoulder and Honey toting a sack full of herbs, had scrambled down the   
rocky slope that bolstered the western side of the   
Via Agrippina on to the neatly paved Roman road. Wide   
enough for a cart, it made for easy walking side by side.   
On their journey south they had passed a guard post flanked   
by a few houses and a small hostel. Hopefully they could do some bartering there and find out where the nearest market   
town was.  
Contemplating the two lugs dozing on a bench in front of the hostel, a mule flicking its tail in the shade and the dirty yellow cur flat out in the dust, the liveliest thing Honey could see was a bunch of flies buzzing around the dog. Not a center of commerce, then. 

C

Until, that is, voices were raised contentiously from inside the taverna. The men turned towards the door, rolled their eyes and let their heads flop back; the mule rotated its ears a couple of times and blinked; the dog sat up and scratched; the flies kept on buzzing until the dog snapped at them but soon settled back into their flight pattern.  
A woman swirled out on to the porch, her draperies fluttering in agitation.   
“This tavern keeper charges exorbitant prices! Here I am, a decent widow going to visit my ailing daughter – and he wants to charge me what he would charge a centurion! An outrage! Not even a citizen, certainly of low birth, he's taking advantage of my haste and worry. We will stay here until I've eaten and had a smallish nap.” All of which poured out with one breath.  
“You two, go get something to eat in the kitchen and make sure the mule is taken care of.” She turned abruptly on the heel of her old fashioned yellow sandals and fluttered back inside. The tavern keeper, who had followed her on to the porch, threw up his hands and got out of her way.  
C

Bird and Honey looked at each other and shrugged. Maybe they could talk to the owner after the matron had gone where ever she was going. Meanwhile they headed for the shaded side of the hostel, giving the mule a wide berth – one never knew with mules.

C

The ceaseless litany of complaints and demands was not was not softened by a murmured yes Matron, no Matron, right away Matron, I'm sorry Matron, but did provide a certain amount of entertainment. The mule was neither amused nor interested, but stood hip shot and dozing until one of the lugs showed up with a bucket of water and a small pan of grain.

C  
“Hey, you, stay away from the mule! Are you looking to steal something? I'm putting the tack where I can keep an eye on it. Gods help you if you touch the beast that's under it!” Glaring pointedly at Bird and Honey, he unsaddled the mule and replaced the bridle with a rope halter. Leaving the expensive looking saddle in the dust he led the mule back toward a paddock where it promptly had a nice roll.  
'Put the mule in the paddock, she says . It'll be in a better temper, she says. Goldie will carry nicely all afternoon, she says. I'm the one that's got to brush 'im, I says. It's your job, she says. Goldie, my ass.......”  
Stomping back in the direction of the porch he scooped up the bridle and grabbed the saddle. Glaring angrily at the two leaning back against the tavern wall “you better not have touched anything, or I'll have you up for thieves with the legionaries.” Slapping ineffectually at the dust on the saddle he turned toward the porch and tripped over the reins.   
Bird and Honey shook their heads and tried to look innocent. Honey ducked her head and murmured: ”he'll have a short life, that one.”   
Bird thought a minute and asked: ”D'you think we should help him with that problem?”  
“Tempting, eh?”  
C

Bird and Honey went back to watching the heat dance in the air above the dusty pavement, once and a while one of them would glance at the guard tower which stood silent.

C

The insistent braying of the mule roused them from their heat induced stupor. Its long ears had picked up the chink and clank of armor long before the four legionaries heaved into sight.

Bird and Honey scrambled to their feet and shielded their eyes against the painful glitter of the armor. In turn, the soldiers glared down their noses at the natives in the travel worn clothes.  
“What are you beggars doing hanging about? There are no handouts here.”  
Bird stepped forward, “Sir, since you weren't here, we were waiting for the innkeeper to speak to us, we are here to trade.”  
“Why did you look for us? What do you have to trade that a soldier might be interested in. Maybe it is your sister who wanted to do some trading?”  
Honey's nostrils flared in anger, but she kept her eyes on her feet. Dang, with soldiers, it was always something; not only were they armed but they were used to getting their way.  
Bird scuffed his feet to draw attention back to him. Thank you Bird.  
“We have some very nice knives our brother made, he does a beautiful job on the handles! Here, let me show them to you. Maybe a comb for your sweetheart?” He moved over to the bench and dug into his pack. “See the handles are bone for a good grip, and it is the perfect size for small, neat work.”  
The older legionary leaned his shield against the wall and squatted to get a closer look, rolling each knife to see the complete design. “Is this one a fox? This an ibex? Ah, an eagle?” He knew he was going to get first pick, but he wasn't ready to bargain yet. “ I like the ibex. It has good balance, hooo! Sharp bugger.”  
Bird could see that they were attached to the remnants of Legio XXI Rapax; he just knew the 'Predators' would be fighting over the eagle and the fox, the ibex would go to the low man.

While the men were focused on the knives Honey slipped through the door into the shadowed tavern. She knew it wouldn't be healthy for her to hang around while the men were in a competitive mood. Whoever lost the draw with the knives would be looking for something to take his anger out on – and she didn't want to be there for it.  
Bird kept quiet, he knew that four legionaries and three knives would end with trouble, he just hoped that no one got killed.  
Honey stood just inside the door letting her eyes accustom to the shadowed room. Soon she could make out rough frescoes on the whitewashed walls and two doors on the opposite sides of the room. The bright rectangle obviously led outside, the other probably led to the kitchen. The rickety tables scattered about the room hid the Matron's two servants, they and the yellow dog had found cool spots for their after lunch nap.  
As soon as she could see clearly Honey threaded her way around the tables and snoring men and into the kitchen in search of the owner. Only the scullery boy was visible, sleeping next to the hearth, his tunic still wet from whatever washing up he had done. A sleeping boy, the ever present flies, the smell of lentils with garlic, and sour wine. Neither owner nor cook. Heat shimmered the air outside the rear door like a living barrier. Honey backed away and sank down on a stool to wait for whoever showed up.  
It seemed as though her whole day had been spent half asleep only to be awakened by loud noises.  
The legionaries had concluded their business and had stomped into the tavern demanding wine, the dog woke up barking, and one of the servants must have gotten stepped on because he started yelling. Honey could only rub her face and curse the malicious imp that fathered them – and the dog.  
She shook the scullery boy awake and sent him to fetch his master before the soldiers pulled the tavern down around their ears. The soldiers seemed to be accompanied everywhere by noise; clinks and clanks, chings and clunks and clashes, metal on metal, metal muffled by leather, metal muffled by cloth. All noisy and all acridly smelling of the oil used to clean it. Let's not talk about the hairy Italian inside the armor. Well, maybe not so much Italian anymore, she thought, but there was just so much you could do to clean leather, it would eventually reek of the person inside.  
...and one of the patrol just assaulted the kitchen...wonderful.  
“Oh, hai! Bring some wine little mouse. My mates wish to celebrate their good luck, getting those fine knives, and I wish to drown my disappointment – or at least let it float for a while.”  
“Yesh sir,” Honey slurred her words deliberately hoping to appear stupidly uninteresting, and shuffled towards the doorway.  
Whap! She was knocked right into the wall. “Hurry it up, mouse! Bring something decent, not that vinegar we had here last night.”  
Whooof, that hurt. I hope I can get to his wine cup. Few crumbs of ergot will fix him up. Put his arrogant ass right out of business.  
Honey scurried right out the door and around the corner as mousily as possible. Spotting a the door that looked like it might be the owner’s she quickly assailed it with her fists.   
“You better get out here before they tear this bug infested dump apart.” she noticed that the scullery boy had found another shady spot to sleep before she went back to shaking the door and pounding on it. Gah! She was going to get a mess of splinters in her hands, beating on this old door.  
Finally the man slumped out out of bed and into action – venting his spleen by kicking the boy on the way to the kitchen.  
Two doses of ergot then, and wish them both interesting nightmares. Maybe not, I should really save it, there are better uses than bringing the nightmare.  
Honey watched as the yellow dog slunk outside to flop in the dust. No doubt he had an equal desire to escape the racket in the tavern. Hmm, dogbane; a few grains of dogbane will be just the thing.  
C

The barkeep appeared at the side door to toss out a bowl of vegetable scraps and stale bread for the chickens, which suddenly gathered, squawking, flapping and pecking around his feet. She waved to get the cook's attention – not wanting to give away her whereabouts by speaking, and waded through the chickens to ask about the nearest market town.  
“Well, girlie, the biggest market around here would be at Argentorate, which is about a day south; but the nearest would be the temples at Brocomagnus, which is north. There's a bunch of houses there and a market square.”  
“Perfect, just what I wanted to know....I've got all kinds of herbs here if you are interested in trading. I'm sure a man such as your self would be too busy to go gathering.”  
Since the cook was really looking for headache powders they soon came to an agreement. Honey had her supplies, even a bit of cheese, and the inn keeper had a packet of herbs to ease his headaches. Unfortunately, even though they would ease his head, they wouldn't do a thing for his choleric complexion or his labored breathing.   
Can't fix everything........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately An Archive makes it rather difficult to add pictures. I like pictures - a lot. So to get the full effect you have to go to http://treewitch703.wordpress.com   
> Wherever there is an odd bit of type - that's where the fancy parts were. Someday I'll figure it out...


	8. A Wyrd Thing - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horse had been itching to carve a wild cat, not laid out straight on the handle, but wrapped around it; the notion had been nagging at him. The horse bone had a fine enough grain, it would take the detail and he was going for it. All morning he laid out his design, plotted the rivet holes and then, carefully sawing at the midline, split the piece lengthwise. Before he stopped to eat he firmly bound the pieces back together. All afternoon he incised and chipped and scraped until the revealed form traveled around the handle like a cat climbing a tree

Home Again, Home Again

 

By mid-afternoon the shade was roiling with clouds of bugs and he could no longer ignore them; he decided to wash and retreat to the hut. If he lit the meal fire – and it was almost time to do so – the smoke might drive off his tormentors.

So the tools were duly wiped down, returned to their roll and put aside, as was the unfinished knife handle. Horse felt it over and was excited at how well it was turning out. As he sauntered down towards the rill he scooped up his work tunic since it was due for a rinse too.

At the tree line Horse paused to look towards the northwest. Not a flicker of movement to be seen along the road. He had hoped that Bird and Honey would be on their way home by now. 'Home', not exactly, it would be a while before they saw their own river valley again.

C

Bird and Honey had slipped away as soon as the soldiers were occupied with their wine and honey cakes. Only the dog saw them go.

They were mostly pleased with the price they had gotten for Horse's knives; the eagle handled one had gone for 200 d.c.#. A comb, along with some herbs for headaches had gone to the tavern keeper in exchange for grain, honey, olives and cheese. There was no butter, but you had to take what you could get.

They would have to go further north to get to a market....perhaps tomorrow. Right now they wanted to get back, get rid of the dust and get off their feet.

C

Horse had become engrossed in smoothing the rough bits on the handle; polishing the cat’s back until the light poured along its spine like liquid. He had to keep a tight rein on himself so as not to lose the suggestion of movement held in the contrast between the rough background and the sleek cat.  
He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't realize that Tod had risen until he appeared right at his elbow. He actually squawked, which had Tod gasping with laughter. Before long Tod’s laughter had tickled a chuckle out of him too.  
Tod seemed to be getting around on his knees pretty well, it wouldn't work for moving any distance but was fine for close quarters. Soon they were side by side while Tod examined the carving. Horse noticed that his fingers were making progress but there still wasn't enough length to let him grip something.  
“Let me look at your hands, Tod” he said gently as he lifted each in turn, back and palm, carefully bending each tender little joint. “Looking good, my man, looking good. Let's see that eye.” Horse softly cupped Tod's chin to turn his face towards the firelight. “Better, much better. Any sign of those fangs? Just open a bit. You know I think I see something. May I check?”  
Tod was so astounded by the whole scene that he could only nod. A human playing physician with a vampire!  
Horse ran his finger over Tod's gums, first one side, then the other. “Yowch! Sharp! There they are! Good.” He could see Tod working the remnant of his tongue around his mouth, trying to feel his fangs. “I think it'll be awhile before you can feel them, they're pretty far up there.” Horse stroked his back affectionately, which had Tod leaning into him and purring in no time. The gentle handling put him at ease.

Tod liked Horse's rich scent, it reminded him of his father's brother who oversaw the common pasturage of the clan's grazing animals and who was the proud possessor of an especially fine dark auburn and white bull#, which he called Tarvorix, bull-king. Even though he was really Dannicos, judge of the grazing rights, people took to calling him Tarvorix too.

He would take Tod with him when it was time to move the cattle to the summer pastures and Tod was often left to watch over the cows and stay with his maternal uncle, Cat. It was a good time. Groups of young people would come up with the clan's goat herd and to help with the cheese making; much sport was to be had chasing flocks of giggling girls over the meadows. The sun was bright, the grass green, and the air crisp. What could be better.

Traditionally Uncle Tarvorix used these up-mountain sojourns to instruct the young men in hand to hand combat. Tod later suspected that Uncle also saw it as a good way to shake out the pecking order amongst the young bucks while they showed off for the girls and tried not to land in the cow shit. Future leadership was decided as the boys stripped off and wrestled in the mountain pastures. Uncle would shout directions or demonstrate better grips.

The girls chattered and made flower necklaces for each other while casting sidelong glances at the boys.

So warriors were made and future marriages were decided all under Uncle Tarvorix's watchful eye. That old bugger knew what he was doing.

C

Tod remembered other things that happened during that time; finding his strength, finding himself orbiting around the sweet wild girls, finding desire. All in the high bright meadows.

C

He came out of his downtime still leaning on Horse, who was quietly waiting for him. Suddenly he was ferociously hungry and he rubbed his face against Horse's bare arm and furred chest, drawn to the scent of the nearest, plumpest, blood vessel.

“Whoa, slow down, Gamli-Tod, let me help you. No, no, not the neck, I can't see to do it properly. It's got to be the arm, the left arm, so I can use the knife with my right hand, Sit up a bit. There. Elbow? All right then, there you go.”

Tod lay back on Horse's lap, his arms locked around Horse's forearm practically inhaling the blood. He'd been so lost in memory while his hunger built that he was barely reining in his blood lust. As his belly filled other hungers stirred further fraying the reins on his appetites. Reluctantly he pulled away, lipping the wound clean. Awkward, not having a working tongue.

Horse felt a little shaky, but he ran his fingers through Gamli-Tod's hair before saying: “You stopped in time, for a wounded dragur you've wonderful control. I know you didn't get enough, but Bird and Honey will be back soon.” and continued stroking him soothingly.  
Unbelievable, I come within a dozen heartbeats of killing the man and he's praising my self control. Great Mother, my existence certainly has taken a strange turn.

C

Not too long afterwards Bird and Honey came back, wearily dragging themselves into the firelight. Of course, Tod had noticed as soon as they had come off the road – and Horse noticed that Tod had looked in that direction. He began to put his tools away and shake out the bits of leather that had covered his lap.

By the time that he had arranged another chunk of wood onto the fire, Bird and Honey were sliding their packs off and greeting Tod.

Somehow their greeting had developed a more formal flavor, their relationship had shifted. First Honey and then Bird had stood before Tod, pressed their palms together and bowed slightly: “Elder.” A sign of respect, a sign of acceptance.

The Gamli Tod was bewildered and looked to Horse for a clue. He signaled that Tod should also extend his arms and nod back. Each of them seized a proffered hand, kissed it briefly, and returned to what they were doing. It left Tod wondering if he'd fallen off the edge of the world, but he sat a little straighter.

C

Soon rough a flatbread had been set out with salty cheese and olives. As the pièce de résistance, Honey unwrapped a small salami that she had managed to wheedle out of the innkeeper. Bird looked hurt; “Why didn't you tell me you'd managed to snag a salami?”  
“Because, greedy gut, you'd have eaten half before we'd gotten back here!”

All the news was exchanged, but they looked to Gamli-Tod for confirmation before deciding to move further north as soon as possible. The eight or so residents at the guard post were not enough to conceal the Elder’s dietary habits, so a larger town with plenty of travelers would be ideal. Unfortunately, the next town of size: Noviomagus was in the rolling floodplain surrounding the river Rhin; little concealment, but plenty of travelers. How could they hide Tod during the day? Should they move at night?

Bird thought it would be most excellent if they could pick up a skiff around Brocomagnus where the road and the river ran close together. They might be able to run with the current all the way to Confluentes, if not, they could go afoot at Mogonatiacum, which had better terrain for skulking anyway. They had options, options were good.

They would be going home.

C

With all the flurry of getting back, Honey had just noticed that Tod was getting restless.  
“D'oh! You're hungry, I'm so sorry. Well, we're all fed and watered, let's get you sorted. I'm closest, so I'll go first.”  
Tod reached for Honey's arm, but his eye was fixed on her neck and his nostrils were quivering.  
Tentatively she asked if he would prefer her neck.  
Tod nodded, parting his lips, panting a little to pick up the nuances of her scent.

Honey loosened the front of her tunic, tipped her head to one side and asked Bird if he would make the cut. He had a delicate touch and would go no deeper than necessary.

The blade glinted in the firelight as Bird positioned it right above her collarbone; Tod scooted closer until he was not more than a hand's breadth away. Bird eased the sharp point down into Honey's neck until the blood began to spring up around it. Quick as a ferret his mouth fastened on the wound even before Bird had finished pulling away. Tod rearranged himself, crossing his legs like a tailor while pulling Honey into his lap. Bird and Horse could tell that he wasn’t actively pulling on the wound, but slowly swallowing what pulsed into his mouth.

Unconsciously Tod started to sway, rocking Honey back and forth. The men stared at each other, mouths ajar. Finally he lipped the area, coating it well with his saliva, which stopped the bleeding immediately. Honey blinked sleepily at him and smiled.  
Abruptly Bird stood and popped Horse on the shoulder. “C'mon, guy, let's have a wash.”

Tod wrapped his arm tightly around the woman and rubbed his face in her hair purring, inhaling and exhaling in soft puffs along her neck, finally tasting the skin between her breasts.  
When he raised his head he patted at her knife, which had slid around to the back.  
“My knife? You want my knife?”  
Tod nodded resolutely, and extended his wrist towards her.  
Honey, baffled, looked back and forth between his face and his wrist “You want me to use the knife on you?”  
Another jerk of his chin.  
“Can you show me where?”  
Tod moved his arm until the tip of her knife rested on the vein of his wrist.  
“Deep cut, shallow cut?”  
Tod shrugged.

Honey pressed the tip of her knife alongside the tendon of his wrist. Tod surprised her by impatiently jerking his arm upwards drawing a spate of dark blood. Before she knew what he was about he had pressed his wrist to her mouth and was stroking her hair softly, pursing his lips as though he were encouraging a baby to feed.

She knew, oh she knew, and she exulted; this binding would be forever. She could taste the magic in his blood. Tod was acting instinctively - it was not likely that he understood that he was tying himself to the entire clan or how deeply embedded he would become. They would absorb him and they would become part of him. Honey hoped he didn’t bolt when he realized what was going on. It was for the best.

As the wound closed Tod moved his wrist from her mouth and rubbed the last smear of blood over the puncture on her neck then cupped her face between his palms. They held each other’s gaze as the magic swirled and settled between them.

“Mine.” he breathed, “mine.”

She whispered: “Ya, we are yours. As you are ours.”

%

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The work-around program that I've been using keeps on losing footnotes. Herewith:_
> 
> _1 Denarii communes, a guess based on Diocletian's "Edict of Maximum Prices" issued in 301 AD_
> 
> _2 See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinzgauer_Cattle_


	9. A Wyrd Thing - part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey curled up dozing in Tod’s arms after their blood exchange; he lost himself staring into the fire. His maker had punished him frequently for acting on his human emotions but his training as a priest and a leader was deeply ingrained. He was meant to garner honor as a warrior, shepherd his people, and spiritually intercede for them. Not to be a careless murderer and thief...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately the runes did not translate to this format. You can look them up under either runes or Elder Futhark; or zip on over to my WordPress site for a look-see. I'm treewitch703 on AO3, Word Press and Live Journal.

Laying out the Runes   
  
Honey curled up dozing in Tod’s arms after their blood exchange; he lost himself staring into the fire. His maker had punished him frequently for acting on his human emotions but his  training as  a priest and a leader was deeply ingrained. He was meant to garner honor as a warrior, shepherd his people, and spiritually intercede for them.  Not to be a careless murderer and thief... He didn't want to remember the other things his changed un-natural self had  done.  He pushed the  ugly thoughts away and concentrated on believing he could once again be the honorable shepherd these children hoped he was.

 

Already clean, Horse had wandered passed and  flopped down on the sleeping bench at the back; soon his snores rasped against Tod’s attempt to wall off ugly memories. The girl draped across his lap stirred the darkness in his mind.  So warm, so soft, so alive,  everything he was not; she triggered other appetites.

 

A dripping Bird strolled back into the firelight just as Tod's discomfort was fraying what was left of his self control. After rubbing his head fiercely with his tunic Bird looked through the dancing flames  at the warm tableaux  and grinned: “D’ya  want me to tuck her in  before I comb out my hair?”

 

He was reluctant to release the girl, but nodded to Bird who flipped his tunic and underwear up over a crossbeam before scooping up his sister/cousin  and depositing her next to Horse.  While he was over there he grabbed a blanket to sit on; he’d just washed,  no need to sit in the dust and bits of last year’s spider legs.

 

Tod watched appreciatively while Bird folded the blanket and positioned it to avoid the occasional coils of smoke.  He was a well built, slender man with dark hair and startlingly blue eyes, very neat in all his gestures. Nothing effete or Roman about him, the crisp patterns of inky body hair shouted masculinity.    
  


  
He’d bet he was handy with a knife too, or at least experienced - given the pale threads of scar tissue across his ribs and arms. The blue veins under Bird’s pale skin suggested he'd never tan easily. Tod found himself attracted to the sanguine tracery and suspected he was still hungry.

Comb in hand, Bird went to work untangling his elf knotted mop. Tod remembered how proud he’d been of his own hair before the  damned Romans had chopped it off, as proud as a  red buck in his prime.  If that  rotten toothed pederast had  wanted a girl he should have gotten one instead of sending the barbers after him with their razors and tweezers. He was doomed to an eternity of embarrassment  sporting a slave’s cropped hair.

 

While Tod absentmindedly watched Bird untangle his hair he flexed his hands and feet, trying to get some sense of the regenerating joints. Honey hadn’t had time to massage the aches out tonight and he missed the comfort; at first the raw wounds had stung with each movement, now it was an unremitting ache combined with a crawling sensation as nerves regrew. Better to concentrate on the firelight painting Bird’s arms.

 

“ D’ya want to talk tonight? I’ve got the runes right here.” Bird softly pitched the bag over to Tod.   
Pouring the rune stones out on the floor and bemused at his impulse, Tod began to push them into groups of three.

  
_ Oh man _ , Bird loved these puzzles, _ the world of  bards and their sagas was full of them! _   
He bent forward to study the pattern being laid out before him, blinking the smoke out of his eyes.   
  
“ These are your journey? Your past?” Indicating the runes. Tod nodded, lips pressed together,  holding back the sorrow.   
  
Warrior:  ** t **   
Initiate:  ** p ** ****   
Disruption:  ** H **   
  
“ The first group, you are an initiate into the Mysteries?” an even briefer nod. “A warrior. Taken from your path?”  The Elder looked away, but anger bunched his jaw.   
Here in the center:

 

Separation:  ** O ** reversed

Constraint:  ** N  **

Possessions:  ** A  ** reversed

 

“ Stolen from your life? Enslaved, forced to deal with darkness, held helpless while all that you were was stripped away.” Bird indicated the spot on his own shoulder where Tod had been branded. The bard had studied the runes with a master.

The last group:

  
Strength : **** ** U  ** reversed -

 

Does this represent the person responsible for your passage into darkness? The next rune?

  
Transformation: **** ** d **

  
“The rune of transformation, is this when you were made dragur?” Tod stared at his damaged hands.

 

Standstill: **** ** i **   
  
“Even though your warrior nature came to the fore, you had to trust your wyrd; you were not freed, you were still chained, bound. To your maker?”  
  
The boy’s body twisted away and his face contorted into a mask of anger and grief; distraught at the memory of his turning he tore at his face and pounded on his legs. _ Why had he chosen those runes? The memory cut too deep. _   
  
Bird heard the leg bones crack as blood spattered from Tod’s retorn hands. The choked sobs, the most noise he’d ever hear from the dragur,  woke Horse and Honey. Still muzzy from sleep, the pair scrambled to help.  


Immediately Bird unsheathed his pendant lancet and moved to Tod’s left, Horse took a position at his back and Honey reached for the water skin hanging from a peg. Abruptly she dumped it over Tod's head, Bird slashed his wrist and shoved it into his mouth and Horse pulled him back against his chest.  
  
Tod’s centuries of grief and anger still macerated every fiber of his frame and clawed at his mind. They had to work at dissipating its fury.  
  
 _Distraction, we need a distraction before he drains Bird.  The blood wasn’t enough._ Horse roughly massaged Tod's arms, Bird was getting paler and Honey frantically searched for options. “If this works, you guys owe me - a lot.” _Use the tools you’ve got!_  
  
“Tip him towards me!” In the way of women from time immemorial, she took Tod in her arms and wrapped her legs around him. For good measure she started nipping at his throat. _This’d better work._  
  
The d ragur’s instincts moved him to search out welcoming pastures and ignoring the man at his back began rocking against Honey, seeking release.  
  
It was their scent that broke through his madness; the woman smells rising from Honey’s hair, from under her arms, from between her breasts, powerful messages; from Bird’s blood in his mouth different from the warmth and richness of Horse at his back. Three hearts pounding like war drums, a cascade of scent messages all told him where and who he was with. These things pulled him out of the darkness and into the pain of his re-injured body.  
  
When Bird read out the runes, Tod was shocked to realize how revealing his choices hadbeen. He'd been trained in the meaning of the individual pieces but hadn't wanted to look more deeply. Seeing it all strung together had been horrible.

 

C

 

He and his little war band had sworn to wreck vengeance on the Romans for using their high mountains as carelessly as one of their city streets. They had defiled the Gods and the Spirits of their meadows and treated their ancient people like vermin. They  _ would _ fight, they  _ would _ have payment in blood. 

 

But that was almost two centuries ago, and he was the only one who remembered the names and faces of his brave friends, sitting around another fire, swearing eternal brotherhood and blood feud against the Romans.

  
  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough chapter to write, sometimes it came only one word at a time. So much to convey - no words to say it. I hope I did it justice.


	10. Before the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rooster
> 
> The flames lept and crackled, licking at the resinous wood feeding the small fire. The boys had raced each other up the mountain, bounding over logs and boulders; the track up to the pastures was as familiar to them as the path to the midden heap. When they were young, one of their chores had been taking the meal-trash out to the midden; middle sized children ran errands for the aunties and fetched and carried for the uncles. Now that they were almost-men (not yet wed) they watched the herds at night, bragging of girls fondled and honey mead purloined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am most grateful to my readers penpractice and AdharaTamar for keeping my head straight during this chapter, drowning in details does not make for good writing. Both ladies offered generous support.  
> I also need to thank the scholars who contribute to the Wikipedia and Orbis sites; if it weren't for them I would still be counting on my toes.  
> Again this site does not admit pictures and oddball fonts, the full effect can be seen on treewitch703 at Word Press.

The Rooster

The flames lept and crackled, licking at the resinous wood feeding the small fire. The boys had raced each other up the mountain, bounding over logs and boulders; the track up to the pastures was as familiar to them as the path to the midden heap. When they were young, one of their chores had been taking the meal-trash out to the midden; middle sized children ran errands for the aunties and fetched and carried for the uncles. Now that they were almost-men (not yet wed) they watched the herds at night, bragging of girls fondled and honey mead purloined.

That night, since a wolf had been harassing the ewes, Uncle-the-Bull and Uncle-the-Cat joined them, crouching thick jointed amidst the sprawling young bucks. Tarvorix and Cat idly exchanged news. Cat commented on the lowlanders who had attached themselves to the farmstead on the south slope, Tarvorix said he was moderately pleased with the price he'd gotten for that barren black cow; She'd been a good cow and he'd gotten some nice calves out of her, but now the only thing the Romans would get out of her was meat, her udder sagged so badly she was forever stepping on it. Maybe that was the only thing the Romans were good for- buying elderly livestock. He certainly wasn't too happy about the road they were building, he'd have to be sure that the herds were pastured well out of sight of travelers or there would be more to worry about than the occasional wolf.

Cat grumbled about the foreign Gods and foreign goods pulling the young people down to the Roman settlements alongside the roads. That was no way to live. A proper oppidium should be on a defensible high spot. It is as though they didn't care who showed up outside their gates.

Gradually the boys rearranged their bodies, mimicking the adult's posture and serious expressions. Impatient, young Rufus fidgeted, retied the leather strip holding back his amber mop and finally blurted out “Why don't we chase them out? It's our country!”

The Uncles frowned, “What and start a war?” Cat continued: “there are only losers in a war, lives, children, territory. Rome has many men with little to lose, willing to die, we have few people now, and much to lose. Do you want your mothers and sisters to die while being raped by Romans? Do you want to see the little children carried off into slavery? We can pull back into the mountains, live our lives, honor our Gods, and wait.”

The focus moved to Stud when his nostrils flared and he tipped his head back, sneering. “There's no glory in that!” He looked something like a tall goblin – large watery pale eyes, thin lips and rat-ears showing through his greasy brown hair. Nonetheless he fancied himself as the most dashing and handsome of the group, a natural warrior.

Tarvorix smacked him upside the head. “Hush balls-for-brains, you don't know what you're talking about.”

Little Button, the youngest of the boys, blinked nervously. Suddenly he half shouted “The loudest rooster meets the stew pot first.” The rumor was that he'd been dropped on his head as a baby, but he was a good help to his mother and most were kind to him.

C

Kit held back as he watched the other young bucks tussle and fake punches. He'd taken his first steps alongside Tarvorix's sturdy son called Artos - the little Bear. Yes, his summers were spent on the alp with Uncle Cat but they all wintered further down-mountain with the rest of the clan. He could barely remember when Rufus was born, he was just a bit younger than them; they ran and scrambled together over and around the benches of his father's house, Rufus' bright hair a flame in the gloom.

The women said Button had come too early and during the bad winter right before Kit's mother had died. Everybody had been hungry and the cold was brutal. Kit remembered staying in bed for days at a time everyone huddling together, trying to stay warm.

Button was a funny pale little thing. He cherished a sawn off piece of antler that he had been given to teethe on; finally someone had bored a hole through it and strung it on a cord – it still hung around his neck and he often fingered it. But it was the new chickens that finally struck a spark in Button. His poor mother had begged a start for a flock and she tended them carefully. Button adored those chickens, he carried them everywhere. Poor Button, poor chickens.

C

Kit shifted and re-clasped his hands around his knees, holding his watchful posture; Stud returned to his loose limbed pose at the light's edge, his pale blue eyes hooded, his expression cocky. Wisely he had moved out of Cat and Tarvorix' reach; neither of them had much patience with stroppy boys.

Kit

Everyone knew that he had been chased out of the market town down near the edge of the valley. Something about the daughter of an important man who had not really been receptive to his advances and someone with a knife who had been eager to teach him manners.

It hadn't helped that he looked like his father, who'd relocated from the troubles to the north along the Rin (Rhine). His taller snake hipped figure set him apart from the rest of the fair skinned, sturdily built boys in the area.

He'd tried his tricks on the local girls, but they weren't as gentle as the town dwellers and he'd been pitched into the midden pile a couple of times.

Finally, Tarvorix had explained that all the local men were very experienced with the short sharp knives used for castration and that they would be careful to cauterize the wound. He'd live. Stud had left the girls alone for a while, but the laughter had cut deeper than any knife and he'd had a gut full of anger ever since.

C

Cat and Tarvorix moved off to check the herds. This time around, Kit and Artos went with them, leaving Button, Stud and Rufus grumbling around the fire.

Stud was the first to voice his anger, “No mistaking who's important around here! Won't even let us track that wolf, I'm as good a tracker as Kit and certainly a better scout than that lead footed Artos. I betcha I'd have that wolf in no time.”

Rufus looked dubious, but Button piped right up “Quick as a hen on a bug! Quick as a hen.”

Thinking on what the men had been talking about, Rufus hunched further into himself, and began shredding a clump of grass. Eventually he muttered:”But what can we do about the Romans? They're everywhere now.”

“Down in the village, that's all the girls will talk about; Romans this, handsome legionaries that, it's all about the flashy red tunics. They sure aren't talking about us!” This was something new! Stud was usually more likely to boast of his conquests than complain about the competition.

C

Cat's figure was a slight shadow against Tarvorix's bulk as they ghosted across the alp. The boys were searching out the dips in the landscape making sure no cow had sought out privacy for calving. There were still several yet to freshen; first year heifers were especially spooky when it was their time.

The men waited while the boys made the rounds; they'd all known each other so long that the comments that passed between them were mysterious to outsiders but carried whole conversations.

“Stud, trouble,” offered Tarvorix.

“Hothead, Rufus,” replied Cat.

“Him too,” was the reply.

Trouble, more than trouble. Before it was over, they'd wish them dead – and see it done.

C

Not long afterwards Artos and Kit took an afternoon to check out the girls at the market. After the day-meal they had put on their second best tunics (already a bit short, since they'd both hit a growth spurt), fastened their freshly oiled wrist guards declaring their status as archers, and tied back their hair with richly colored ribbons.

Slipping away they skittered along the track, through stands of mountain pines, down to the market-town, playfully slamming into each other and slap boxing the whole way. In the last bit of woodland before the clear-cut surrounding the town they dusted themselves off, pulled combs from their belt pouches and in general got themselves fit to catch the eyes of the maidens.

With heads high, and bored expressions they entered the gates of the town, prepared to impress.

C

The central market place was empty save for the vendors clustered along one side. The new Roman cart ways had drained away much of the trade; the merchants followed the money, which followed the trade routes. Now there was hardly enough custom to make market-day worthwhile. Still there were girls, carrying baskets for their Mamas, lingering over ear-bobs and bright ribbons....and boys.

As soon as the feminine glances slid in their direction Kit struck out with a rigid finger to poke Artos in his most ticklish spot. Success! Burly Artos doubled over with a yelp. Ha! That drew attention. Unfortunately it was Button who'd first noticed their antics and trotted right over, he'd come with his mother to sell eggs.

The image at the front of Button's small brain, however, was the splendid rooster he'd seen. “He, he, he had, boots! Feather boots! An, an, an a fair ruff! Tail was black!” Button gestured with both arms to demonstrate how magnificent the rooster's tail was. “Our old rooster is just dirty brown.” A small sniff came from him. The rooster that he had once loved, he was now ashamed of.

Offering comfort, Kit rested his hand on Button's shoulder, Artos said: ”Button, man, you know Brownie is a good rooster. He covers all the hens and there are as many chicks as your Mom wants to let hatch out.”As a diversion, Kit asked Button to show them where this fabulous bird was. Happily Button trotted off turning to make sure they were following him.

A pair of Roman legionaries in faded red tunics chose that moment to step out from the crowd, poor Button careened right into the knees of the younger one. It would have been funny ifthe embarrassed soldier hadn't kicked little Button with his hobnailed boot. Artos and Kit acted in concert, almost as if they'd rehearsed the move; Artos went in fast and low to scoopButton up and out of the danger zone, Kit grabbed the tail of soldier's cloak and ran in the opposite direction. As he darted into the crowd someone yelled:”Pick on someone your own size, you big bully!”

The older legionary coldly stared at his downed and dusty partner. “Told you to watch your temper, you've got as much sense as a dead cockroach. You act as though you've got the other seven guys in your contubernium (the eight man squad he belonged to and bunked with) behind you.”

C

Both older boys patted Button reassuringly as they felt him over. Beyond being really shaken, he seemed to have a couple of cracked ribs from the kick, a bloody nose, and someother promising bruises on his face from the way he'd landed They agreed that it would not be wise to venture back into the marketplace until the soldiers were gone.

One of the women brought them some bread and cheese, another some weak small-beer1. Quietly, the local people ducked back to check on the boys; several reporting to Button'smother that he was fine but not to draw attention to him. As soon as the glint of the Roman armor had disappeared he scurried back to the stall where she still had a few pullets to sell.

Dusting each other off, Kit and Artos resumed their tour of the market, ruefully commenting that they hadn't had much success in their girl watching venture, the pretty ones had all been hustled off as soon as things had gotten rowdy.

“Wait, wait,” called a woman, hurrying towards them, a plump baby bobbing happily on her back. “I just saw that you were here.” Startled, Kit was at a loss for her name.“I wanted to thank you, you and your Uncle, for interceding for me with the Goddess.” She slid the wide eyed baby around so that they could get a better look at her. “A fine gift from the Goddess! I will be by soon with a thank offering. Will you give her the Goddess’ blessing?”

Artos' regard flicked back and forth between the feathery haired, gray eyed baby and Kit, he ducked his head to hide his smile.Kit blushed, his fair skin quickly showing color, but he bent down to murmur a few words and kiss the baby's forehead; her gray eyes opened even wider and she responded by smacking her lips, making little kissy sounds.

Artos-the-Bear

The woman bustled off, her daughter looking over her shoulder, her gaze wondering.Artos finally doubled over with laughter. “Kit, I should have known,” he was gasping for breath, “here we are trying to get a glimpse of some girls and, and … How many are there anyway? What was her name?”

“I can't remember!” Kit gritted out. “And I can't talk about the mysteries, even if I could remember.” He blushed even more furiously, his ears cerise.

After a long pause in which he detected a hint of jealousy beneath the mocking of his friend he admitted, “There's a few.”

C

Tod pulled back for a bit into his present self, considering the many ways he had satisfied the Goddess: the children in her honor and by her design, protecting young Button, respecting his elders and celebrating the year festivals. These God-laws he had obeyed and fulfilled before his wyrd had seized him.

C

So much of his story had been encompassed by the first three runes:

Warrior: t  
Initiate: p  
Disruption: H

his youth and the ending of it.

C

The fire that ignited young men burned in their bellies; it had driven them to strike out at the Romans, their darker impulses ended with him in chains. He'd decided only the cautious and the lucky survived youthful passions. He'd lost everything; he'd thought he'd accepted his wyrd – but his wyrd had devoured him and stripped him of everything he imagined he was. Hero, priest and princeling. No longer.

Separation: O reversed

Constraint: N

Possessions: A reversed

His mind drifted back …...

C

Kit had sifted through his kennings, his deepest understandings of the God-stories Uncle Cat had taught him. Bright images of Gods and Goddesses, battles and warriors, fortune and ill-luck flickered through his mind. He'd thought their sortiewould be most most likely to succeed directly after first harvest and the bull feast.

There was always a great ceremony when the old herd bull was sacrificed (Not Tarvorix' prize, the great red bull, he had his own pen and the cows were brought to him) and the new young sire brought in to cover the cows that didn't take on the first go-round. They would need the luck attached to the festivals of Lugus -returned-to-his-throne. The time of the waning moon would be a lessening of power and caution, an ending.

When the new dark of their great adventure finally arrived, they prepared themselves like the heroes of old: Hair tightly braided and knotted up unable to snag on the arrows in their quiver; a full complement of those arrows, carefully made, and true, bronze heads sharpened to a razor edge; flexible sandals, suited for grip on an uneven surface. There'd been whispered arguments as to how many arrows they should take and whether or not a shield would get in the way. Lazy Stud thought they didn't need to bother, cautious Artos wanted to carry a round targe – he didn't fancy getting a Roman gladius in the gut. Kit, archer at heart, thought you could never have too many arrows.

Even though he was as nervous as a bridegroom, Kit had had a sense of inevitability about his actions. Artos would go wherever he did, Rufus just wanted to get going and Stud was itching for a fight. They kept Button out of it.

Is this what his dream quest foretold? How can you die three times? His uncle had explained to him that the dreaming and the visions could count as one death, because he was remade as the Goddess's priest with a new persona.

The shining young warriors headed out, down to where their paths would intersect with some of the Roman auxiliaries scouting for provisions.2

They were in luck, or their wyrds were in force, after dozing for the darkest part of the night they set out through the gloom on the spruce needle littered track to the pass3 just as birds started to run through a few trial twitters. They were quiet enough, able to hear the legionaries chatting as they went to collect the live stock the auxiliaries on provisions detail had seen the day before. The boys meant to go in, inflict some misery and get out as quickly as possible.

Rufus jittered, restless, while they strung their bows and held arrows at the ready; Kit and Artos took deep breaths and looked at each other. They knew that this moment would be a turning point in their lives; a slow lowering and raising of their eyelids was all it took to acknowledge Fortune before Rufus launched himself, yelling. They skittered down the needle slippy hill to save the kid from his foolishness.

Quickly they burst through the remaining brush at the edge of the track, taking their aim at the handful of auxila forming a defensive line.

They each got off a couple of good shots Kit actually hitting one of the soldiers under his arm as he raised his pilum (spear with a detachable head, like a harpoon) to skewer Stud who was still up slope. Artos' arrow lodged in someone's thigh. Rufus was able to scramble back from the melee but he had a nasty gash in his leg from the thrust of a gladius. Why he had run full tilt into the squad, no one will ever know but it was not surprising, fool hothead.

Both Artos and Kit set their feet and fired arrow after arrow seeking a gap in the segmented armor (lorica segmentata)4or a bare leg showing behind a shield (scutum). They were close enough to aim at feet and nailed a couple that way.

Rufus was holding his bleeding leg as he crab-scuttled away from the action, but one of the soldiers, seeing his opportunity for profit escaping, snaked an arm out and grabbed Rufus' foot.

One of the last things Kit remembered was Stud standing there mouth open and his bow dangling from lax fingers.

%

1Small beer: is a beer that contains very little alcohol. Sometimes unfiltered and porridge-like, it was a favoured drink in medieval Europe (Wikipedia)

2 The term is generally used to refer to those lighter armed, non-citizen, infantry who do the riskier work for about eighty percent of the pay. p39

….the auxiliaries earn their keep, as they work in forage parties, seeking out where the villagers have stashed their herds.... p 147 Legionary The Roman Soldier's UnofficialManual, Matyszak, Phillip, Thames & Hudson 2009

3The Roman Road traversed the Alpes Graiae (Gray Alps) starting at Augusta Praetoria Salassorum (modern Aosta in Italy) and traced the ancient trail through the pass [circumscribing the western borders of Raetia (the modern pass of St. Bernard)] traveling eastward along the shore of the Lacus Lemannus (Lake Geneva) to connect with the roads paralleling the south-western flow of the Rodonos (Rhône ) to the west and the north eastern direction of the Rhine. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_roads

4 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lorica_segmentata


	11. After the Battle, part the first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle  
>  Kit's memories of how he became Tod and how he became a Roman slave. 
> 
> 200CE
> 
> Tod was roused by Honey's sleepy protest as Bird was lifting her from his arms. “Tod, my man, I'm just putting Honey on the sleeping bench. Why don't I help you get over there too?”
> 
> Yes, that would be good. She was warm, it was almost dawn, it would be good to fall back into the darkness and heal.
> 
>  
> 
> I must again thank penpractice, Aspis7and my pocket archeologist Adhara Tamar for all their help and encouragement.

After the Battle

200CE

Tod was roused by Honey's sleepy protest as Bird was lifting her from his arms. “Tod, my man, I'm just putting Honey on the sleeping bench. Why don't I help you get over there too?”

Yes, that would be good. She was warm, it was almost dawn, it would be good to fall back into the darkness and heal.

13 CE

Stunned by the contretemps that left his friend in a heap at the feet of the auxiliaries, Artos-the-Bear unstrung his bow, scooped up Kit's abandoned weapon and hoisted Rusty over his shoulder. There was too much adrenaline in his blood to do anything but act. His heart would break later.

A part of his mind was aware that Stud had escaped what seemed like hours ago; he'd fled as soon as Kit had gone down. His best friend had lain unconscious, completely at the mercy of the soldiers. It wasn't supposed to happen that way, he was supposed to do the retrieval, Kit the distraction, that's the way they always worked it. This was completely fucked.

He knew his duty, make sure Rufus got to safety, bind up his leg and get his ass home. He never could have imagined bright, laughing, Kit gone. Their plan had always been that he would be the herdsman, Kit was meant to be the priest; they would end up crotchety old men, gossiping about the women they had known.

He had to find and keep an eye on Kit's children, help them when he could. Artos owed Kit that; he vowed to hold him in his memory, tell his story over and over again. His eyes stung, he blinked repeatedly.

Artos felt like the path was all uphill, he was so tired his legs were trembling. He forced himself to keep moving, only making a quick stop to bind up Rufus' thigh. Maybe Rufus wouldn't make it, he was still out and he'd lost a lot of blood. Fool kid, rushing down to the track that way – blew the whole thing. None of them had a chance after that.

It had taken them most of the night to make their way through the shadowed spruce groves, to get anywhere near where the Romans were working, the trip back seemed too short. Despite the weight on his soul and Rufus on his shoulders he would be there right after day meal. Huh, it had been much slower going in the dark.

Crossing the last ridge that stood between the blood spattered pass and home Artos started across the sloped meadow. As soon as the Clan spied the distant figure staggering toward home they gathered. More than the inert figure in his arms, it was the tears streaming down his face that told them the news was bad. Hands extended, they helped carry Rufus over the last stretch.

Kit's father, the Apa1 Samognatus2, had taken the time to arm himself and put on his golden torque and armbands; he stood waiting at the threshold, the mountains at his back. The chief would meet tragedy with dignity, still, horror tightened his throat.

The men looked steadily at each other. There would be no turning back once the words were spoken. They held reality at bay until Rufus' family broke through the crowd and the women began to wail, tearing at their clothes. Rufus was lifted and carried indoors to be tended.

The Apa held Artos shoulders, shaking him a bit. “Your account of what happened, Now!”The Apa, Samognatus

He'd been rehearsing what he would say, he needed to speak plainly. He'd combed through what had happened, searching for anything he could have done to prevent what happened. He and Kit were up-slope from Rufus, there was no way they could have gotten there to prevent his leap into disaster.

Kit may not have been the chief's favorite son, but nonetheless he swelled with anger and he shook Artos harder. “Tell me!”

“The Romans need to learn respect, we are not unwashed, unlettered savages. We thought to get their attention with a quick wasp sting. It isn't right, the way they treat us.

“We planned to strike over where they are building the road through the pass. We were going to stay within the cover of the evergreens, loose some arrows, and get out. I don't know what got into Rufus, maybe he slipped. But he yelled and landed in the middle of a party of auxiliaries. Or maybe it was the other way around: he slipped and yelled when one of them ran a sword into his leg. We couldn't see from where we were standing. We got down there as fast as we could and we did like we always do. I grabbed Rufus and Kit ran in to distract them. Since he is so agile that's the part he usually takes. I kept moving but he went down and the soldiers grabbed him.

“It should have worked, we got Button away that time, and we got the little girl away from the pigs. We've done it time after time playing ball, we could have done it in our sleep. It should have worked.”

The Apa thundered:”Where was the other boy? The one who calls himself Stud?”

“I don't know, he vanished as soon as Kit was down; I thought he came back here.”

“Find him,” he glared at the rest of the hovering men, “track the soldiers if you can. Find out where they've taken my son.”

C

On the track through the pass and later in a supply wagon en route to Castra Vetera

Kit could hear men arguing...somewhere...behind him? Two, no, three, more. His head hurt. Someone was pounding, scratching and pounding; the clangor was louder than the screech and rattle. He couldn't figure out where it was coming from. “Hey!” Loud, more voices. His head hurt worse than ever and everything was all swimmy. Rough hands dragged him to his feet, pulled at his tunic.“Lookee here, not your average Celt.

Kit brought to Castra Vetera

 

This one's all painted up. Total barbarian.” More rough hands grabbed his hair and dragged his face upwards. “Not civilized, betcha all he can say is :'bababa'”

Laughter swelled and crashed over him. His vision was filled with laughing mouths and snaggled teeth. Everything slid sideways, then it was dark again.

He woke several times more, each time the black pain in his head brought nausea and a foul taste in his mouth before things faded.

Finally the constant jounce and jingle stopped and he was dragged upright into what looked like torch light.

The brightness hurt his eyes. Again he'd retreated into unconsciousness. The darkness was a blessing. There were many things he was happy not to remember. 

If he thought too much on it the whipsaw of his emotions would capture him and spin him into a storm of fear and anger. 

Something bad would happen, and he couldn't afford that. Not with these people.

C

at Castra Vetera 

Publius Quinctilius Varus was an embarrassment to his nephew, Lucius Vipstanus Gallus, even if he was an uncle only by way of his wife's first marriage. He would rather appear to be oblivious to the bad smell that hovered over that part of the family than retire to the country in shame. He would enjoy his position, unlike Varus' other nephew and deputy Lucius Nonius Asprenas, of sober and diligent repute.

His rotation as legate at Castra Vetera3 on the Via Agrippa had begun with him knee deep in whispers about Varus' disaster; this gave him to understand that perhaps he had been overly optimistic about his career. His wife would not set foot in the wilds of the Gaulish provinces and declared that their sons would not run with a bunch of barbarians nor would they be schooled by a bunch of hardened soldiers. She'd heard stories....

And so Vipstanus signed documents, listened to reports and agreed with whatever the praefectus castrorum, the senior centurion, had suggested. It was dull, dull, dull.

Dull was better, dull would get him home sooner rather than later, above all dull was safe. But.....ye Gods and little fishes, the amenities were lacking.

Until a little entertainment came within reach. The scouts had gone out on a routine patrol and encountered a few recalcitrant Raetians on a raid and brought back a princeling or priestling of some sort. It was about time he got some amusement out of this posting.

Vipstanus rose from his couch, where he had idly been swirling the dregs in his wine cup, tied his boots back on – and for the sake of his dignity, a cloak. It wasn't Rome, but by his ancestors, he had some standards! With a dignified pace the legate went to see what the cat'd dragged in.

Some of the lowland Raetians, sensing the inevitable tide, had taken the Emperor's coin but the highlanders, having heard of the heavy taxes and tolls imposed by the Romans, tossed their heads like stallions and declared:“Never!”

So amusing, so futile.

C

They were hammering home the final bolt on the manacles restraining a fine tattooed specimen. From the elaborate inked designs - perhaps someone of importance. A bit gaunt and battered, but guerrilla warfare will do that. Nicely muscled, not too scarred, a valuable trophy for the right person. Meanwhile....

there would be compensations. A holdover from the rebellions, a stripling warrior, an unbroken colt so to speak. How sweet it was!

“Get a collar on him, clean him up; make sure Servius does the brand, he's much neater with the iron....and then bring the slave to me.”

C

9 CE, up mountain

His uncle could see deeply into people's spirits; if they'd dreamed truly, he could see what they'd dreamed and would scribe an indelible memory of those images on their skin. Uncle Cat would let him assist in grinding the pigments, and holding the pots of ink as he worked. It was an exhausting business for all concerned; the ceremony, the laying out of the figure, just so, the actual hovering over the initiate until the process was complete. For one of Uncle's great tattoos...they would get a winter's worth of food.

C

13 CE

The legate straightened his clothes and called Iberius over to remove the Raetian archer. “Give him over to Merulla4 to clean and tend. She'll take 'good' care of him.” He chuckled at his own wit. “Get it Iberius? Good, heh, heh.”

Iberius laughed obediently. “Very clever wordplay, sir. I'll get him out of your way now.”

Everybody in the quarters called Merulla, Bon, short for Bona (good), ha, ha. Mostly because everybody wanted to stay on her good (ha, ha, again) side.

A formidable woman and former nurse to the legate's children, she had been sent by his wife to run this household – and probably report back to her.

C

They call me Merulla, Bona if they want something. I've forgotten the name my mother gave me. She said she was taken from Cush, far to the south. I don't know who my father was. Somebody smarter than my mother. He got away. My mother got dead. It is hard to escape when your skin is this dark. Maybe that's why they dragged my sorry ass north, they knew I wanted to run.

Ohhhh, they do call me, whenever they want something straightened out, someone nursed.

Oh, Bon, you're the only one that can fix this, talk to these people, heal that. You don't want to know about the rest of the time.

Me, I'm biding my time, I will get myself free, one way or the other. Or else.

Now it is Ohhhh, Bon, you've gotta take care of this boy. He's real messed up. Legate took his whole family's troubles out on his ass. Poor kid wasn't so good when he got here, now he's a lot worse.

And I thought I was going to get some sleep, uhhh, uhhh, unnh.

Merulla

They'd put him in an alcove off the kitchen. She'd seen plenty of brutality in her life, but something about this battered figure just tore her heart.

Sweet mother of all the Gods! Lucius Vipstanus Gallus,is a rutting goat. Better he were Galli5 than Gallus, and never got it up again.

What am I supposed to do with this filthy mess?

“Iberius, let's see what kind of damage we are dealing with. You get some water, I'll get the rags.” her voice was calmbut her face was tight with fury.

Iberius grabbed her arm “What has you so upset, Bon? This is just what happens to slaves. We've both gone through it. We have no value.”

Merulla slowly shook her head. “I don't know. I was born to it, I've seen it all. But yesterday he was free, today he is just a thing.”

She swung away from the alcove to raid the rag-bag.The Spaniard, Iberius, watched Bon move away,

fascinated by the roll of her substantial hips and the contrapuntal motion of her heavy breasts. Blackbird fly…..

He'd often fantasized about her but he valued his balls too much to make a move. A man could lose himself in her glory

. Ahhh, Bon. He hurried to get a basin of water.

C

One way or another they managed to get the damaged slave clean, wipe the road dirt off, clean the angry looking brand and put salve on it, wash the blood from between his buttocks. Neither said a word, since they'd both seen worse.

After he was laid out on his stomach, Iberius voiced every man's concern – “At least they didn't castrate him.”

Merulla's cynical retort was: “That's because geldings are no fun. Varus likes some fight in his victims.”

C

...and then bring the slave to me.”

For three years those words were Tod's waking nightmare.

At first they chained him to a pillar in the atrium, his humiliation on display for all the couriers, clients, and men of rank to sneer at. There was no scrap of cloth to cover him or to soften the ground, nor any privacy. Day after day he was left to stare at the sharply geometric mosaics that patterned the floor. Dark thumbnail squares, down eight and across eleven, down eight … on and on.

Roman mosaic

Always the same, perfectly regimented, paired ebon angles on a russet field. Tod counted until he lost count, or until the light grew dim, or someone kicked him.

Then he'd have to start all over again with the dark squares: down eight, across eleven, down eight. He never got

past the pattern to counting the ivory bits, someone laughed at him, mocked him,

Where are your arrows, O mighty bowman,

not feeling so sharp now are you.

Some spoke Celtic, some spoke his dialect. He could understand enough Latin that he understood their insults too.

If you serve Vipstanus well, maybe he'll get you a new dress, sweetheart.

Sooner or later the light would go dim and his true torture would begin. They quickly learned not to feed him until after he'd been brought before the legate. A lesson neither they nor he would not forget after he'd vomited on some expensive hangings. For that incident he'd gotten such a beating with the centurion's vitis that the soldier had toyell for an unbroken staff to finish the job. When gray dawn crept across the floor and the household stirred, he was given a skimpy bowl of pottage, handed a bucket and a rag, and told to clean up the 'stupid barbarian filth and blood' from where he'd lay.

The parade of collaborators, calumny, and couriers would begin again. Tod shielded himself as best he could behind his pillar, always keeping the dream creature he carried on his back facing the red oxide washed wall. The information carried in the image was for his fellow initiates and clansmen alone.

Every day as Tod felt himself grow weaker from lack of food and exercise, he retreated further and further into his memories.

Tod got days' worth of reverie from his memories as Kit. There were the great clan feasts and the girls....no he wouldn't think of those sweet wild girls in this place. He had to think of things that would keep him strong.

 

He could hide in the past, hide from the awareness of this juncture, events that had trapped him at a point where he questioned himself and his fate. Had the Goddess forsaken him? Or was he trapped in the world of his spirit dream? His body had betrayed him, it was not strong enough to withstand the abuse heaped on it. Or was his mind not strong enough to hold him firm and prevent his body from writhing like an animal.

C

The old Iberian freedman who oversaw his feeding and led him to the baths was brusquely kind. Once, in the bath, the man had even stripped down to help him with the unfamiliar jars and bottles. Tod could see that he had been harshly used. Scars from a flogging ridged his back and there were twisted areas where he had been broken but hadn't healed right. A survivor, worth listening to.

Tod really hated stinking of oil-of-roses. That Iberian had oiled and scraped him before dragging him to the barber. This effeminacy was insult to the Goddess!6 Getting his hair trimmed in the Roman style was bad enough but when they came at him with razors he had to be held down. He was a man! They would have him looking like a child or a woman. He shuddered in revulsion; the legate wanted him as a catamite! Last night, after his branding, wasn't a one time thing! With that realization he fought and bucked like a berserker, until the barber called in one of the guards and Merulla (who was very strong) to hold him down.

The team calmly advised him to hold still or he'd be losing some important pieces, which meant in turn that he would be losing value since he was too old to be a proper eunuch and would end up working in the mines.

The guard reassured him that the legate would lose interest soon, he always did. It curdled his soul to be some greasy pederast's deliciae, their sweet little tidbit.

The guard's word was true and soon enough the legate's interest was caught by a captured he-wolf which was displayed in the atrium. Tod was put to work feeding the furnace in the hypocaust.

C

The Iberian had a name when he was bought, but it didn't suit, so he became Iberius. Tod was given over to him to school in the ways of the house. Iberius understood the boy's drive to escape, but at his age he couldn't live through another flogging and wasn't about to trade his life for someone else's chance at freedom.

Bluntly he spelled out the facts. It wasn't worth anyone's life to help a slave escape; between the collar and the brand he was a marked man. If he tried and was caught he would be re-branded as a fugitive; that nasty FUG scar on his cheek would scare all the girls off for sure. If he failed in his attempt, his best advice was to get himself killed as soon as possible.

C

After those grim warnings Iberius slapped his knees and creakily stood up. “Let me show you where you will be working.” He led Tod through a narrow passage, along a wall and around a corner where he came face to face with an enormous pile of wood. “This is the hypocaust, it heats the bath, both dining rooms and the legate's chamber. Since it is still summer, the work is light and only the bath needs to be fired up for the afternoon. As long as the weather is mild the legate will be dining outside, if it rains he may decide to entertain in either the small or the large dining rooms. By winter you will require help to keep the fires sufficiently stoked to heat the bath, the dining rooms and his private apartment.

“We are lucky that his wife isn't in residence. Women tie up the bath all morning and generally are a lot more work. They notice things.

“Until the powers that be decide else wise you will be shackled to your workstation, either here or in the bakehouse.” Wandering back towards the kitchen garden Iberius pointed in the direction of a substantial building. “They always need help grinding grain.” Moving towards the kitchen itself, tugging on the chain to hurry Tod along. “The legate prefers a fine bread....mutter, mutter...not of the old stock, I can tell you...mutter.”

C

That was when the weight of his helplessness began to press into Tod. It was easy to stay defiant when facing his enemies, not so easy when chained in the dank space used to house slaves. The ergastulum had been designed according to the best modern principles suggested for the housing of slaves. They were, after all, expendable, consumable, unlike more durable goods such as a cart or fine furniture. There was no reason to provide light or pleasant sleeping quarters. They were a prelude to a grave. He had felt his life being wrenched off course that morning during their abortive strike at the Romans. His former life, as Kit, had died on that mountain pass.

C

And so the days came and went; making sure the fires were stoked just so for the legate's bath, unloading carts filled with firewood. He was able to make a game out of stacking the firewood, twisting his shoulders in an underhanded pitch that landed the split on the stack with a satisfying thunk. The area around the hypocaust gradually filled with cord after cord of wood in preparation for the cold season.

The slaves and freeborn ate their main meal while Vipstanus was in the bath, the body servants ate while he dined (no wonder they were all sleek as otters). They had about an hour before Merulla declared that they had to clear the decks – it all depended on how many dinner guests there would be and how much the legate wanted to impress them.

Ordinarily it was variations on the same pottage. Whatever greens were ready in the garden, whatever grain was handy, some dried beans and a bit of smoked meat maybe, or cheese. Always wheat bread, always watered wine, occasionally weak beer, sometimes fruit. Tod's belly had a hard time getting used to the wheat bread, barley suited his gut better. The olives were nice and salty but he missed the butter and cheese of his homeland. Some days he thought he would kill for a pitcher of his stepmother's ale.

C

200CE

Soon Tod would have to slide further into the recesses of the sleeping bench. For now he would luxuriate in the warmth and scents surrounding him and his people. His to tend, his wealth, his security. Horse grunted and shifted slightly in his sleep, a human sound, part of his earliest memories, along with smoke stained beams and firelight. The sort of things you neither hear nor see at the time but which richly paint the past.

Ever since....NO. Tod rolled closer to Honey nuzzling into the nape of her neck. This was good, this was right, he wouldn't think about the other.

%

1 Apa: Clan father or chief  
2 Samognatus: summer born.  
3 Around 15 BC the Roman camp Castra Vetera was created near modern-day Birten. It was intended as a base for campaigns into Germania and until its destruction during the Revolt of the Batavi in 70 AD it was occupied by 8,000 to 10,000 legionaries.  
4 Merulla: Blackbird.  
5 The first Galli arrived in Rome when the Senate officially adopted Cybele as a state goddess in 204 BC.[1] Roman citizens were prohibited from becoming Galli, which meant that they were all orientals or slaves. Under Claudius, this ban was lifted.[2] Eventually Domitian reaffirmed that Roman citizens were forbidden to practice eviratio (castration).  
The Galli castrated themselves during an ecstatic celebration called the Dies sanguinis, or "Day of Blood", which took place on March 24.[4] At the same time they put on women's costume, mostly yellow in colour, and a sort of turban, together with pendants and ear-rings. They also wore their hair long, and bleached, and wore heavy make-up. They wandered around with followers, begging for charity, in return for which they were prepared to tell fortunes. On the day of mourning for Attis they ran around wildly and disheveled. They performed dances to the music of pipes and tambourines, and, in an ecstasy, flogged themselves until they bled.  
6 the medieval Icelandic law book, said that a man was free to kill someone who spoke certain forms of insults. Most of these insults have as their basis the implication that a man acted in a womanly manner. To a Norseman, cowardice and effeminacy were two sides of the same coin. Effeminacy implied sexual and social impotence. To suggest that a Norseman was no man (such as suggesting that he was the submissive partner in an encounter) was a mortal insult. The Celts and the Norse were close enough culturally that I think logical parallels can be drawn.

I must again thank penpractice, Aspis7and my pocket archeologist Adhara Tamar for all their help and encouragement.


	12. After the Battle - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat was the priest, but also an intuitive tracker and subtle hunter. He'd come hotfoot as soon as he'd gotten word of Kit's capture. The other men rumbled around for a bit, making arrangements, then jogged off to see what Cat'd found.
> 
> This chapter flips between the distraught clan of Raetians who have lost their young priest and his new existence amongst new people. Can a vampire rebuild and recreate what was vital in his old life?
> 
> As always thanks to penpractice who keeps me from mumbling to myself and aspis7 my refuge from Caesar's murderous legions.

After the Battle - part 2

13CE

Cat was the priest, but also an intuitive tracker and subtle hunter. He'd come hotfoot as soon as he'd gotten word of Kit's capture. The other men rumbled around for a bit, making arrangements, then jogged off to see what Cat'd found.

 

They caught up with the tracker and halted transfixed amongst the trunks of soughing evergreens, watching Cat who stood, nostrils flaring, at the edge of the old road.

  
"Here's where Kit was taken; Tarvorix, you are standing close to where your son, Artos wide-foot, stood.' All eyes turned to the scuffed ground. “I am standing where Rufus slipped,” he added looking up at the man with the faded auburn hair. “See the skid marks in the spruce needles and the gout of blood from his leg?" 

 

Stepping twice to his left he pointed downwards "This is where Kit went down and was captured.” Everyone craned their necks to see what Cat pointed at. “I see a smudge of blood, so he maybe hit his head but wasn't wounded." 

 

Moving up slope on a diagonal, he pointed at the ground again, "Narrow foot – maybe that git who calls himself Stud, stood here, rested his bow tip here and here." He indicated two small areas of needles that were subtly aligned. "This one stepped back, then turned and ran, that way." He waved his arm in the direction of the old road.

 

"Away from the scent of the spruce sap I smell two kinds of men that passed here, both armed. One set reeks of olive oil and garlic, the other of cows, cheese and grain.

 

“There is more on the road.” Cat stepped gracefully down to the ancient track “Yesterday the Roman hobnail boots came after the cheese and grain men whose boots were not reinforced, they were hauling a cart with them.” The wheel marks covered the first set of footprints and were in turn smudged by plain boots. “Both sets go down mountain. Plain boots came back, leading a cow. 

 

“Tarvorix, I think you you should go up the old road and talk to those who brought the cow. Since you've sold livestock to the Romans before it would not be suspicious. I'll track narrow-foot down the mountain and see what he has to say for himself.”

The Bull Master grunted in agreement and gestured for the goatherd Cap, who had also dealt with the Romans, to come with him.

 

Cat and the others sped along the path down mountain towards the oppidium. Away from the Romans the scent of an early snow drifted down to mix with the evergreens.

Occasionally He would stoop and make sure they were on track; Stud wasn't clever enough to double back or use any other ruse to elude them.

 

200CE

 

The three Chatti, whiling away a rainy day and waiting for their dragur to rise, stood at three points of a triangle, their hands busily twisting cord. Since it always went faster with three sets of hands, they soon had several good lengths. Bird sat at the edge of the bench to concentrate on making snares with the shorter bits of cord, Honey ran a lump of beeswax over the longer pieces to add a little weather resistance. Horse had reluctantly sloped off into the weather to check his fish traps. 

Honey softly called after him to “bring back those hemp stalks that were still retting downstream.” She hoped that the water had worked on the stalks enough that she would be able to strip the fiber off easily. _There is no such thing as too much cord,_ she thought as shecoiled up the finished strands, and turned to busy herself with the night meal. 

 

She was bent over her gathering basket, selecting greens, when Tod rose directly behind her, pleased to find his favorite lovey within arm's reach.

 

Her squawk was predictable, but got a laugh out of Tod as he pulled Honey close, nosed her head-cloth out of the way and enthusiastically kissed her neck, while she hunched up her shoulders to dodge his tickly face.

 

“Grieving Ladies, you almost scared me into fits.” Honey twisted on his lap, right into the path of his lips. “Mmmmph!” Twisting her face in mock anger she playfully sniped: “Is it just you or do all guys have to lick everything?”

Tod ducked his head but grinned and winked with his good eye. He was still shy about speaking with his damaged tongue. 

Honey peered closely at him. “How are you healing, may I look?”

Tod willingly opened his mouth. “How far can you stick your tongue out? Ooooh! Much better, the tip is almost all there. How're those fangs? Niiiice. Can you extend them yet?” There was a faint 'snick' and ivory points gleamed against his gums.

Honey stroked them with her forefinger, “so sharp, already.” 

A slow intake of breath and a purr reverberated around the hut. Tod's eyelids lowered with pleasure.

“Oh, oh, I'm playing with fire, aren't I?” she folded her hands in her lap and meaningfully cleared her throat.

“Gamli Tod?” He continued to rub his face along the back of her neck, tickling her and lipping at her shoulder. “Ermm, Gamli,” she pushed on “we were talking earlier and we need to keep moving, as soon as Horse gets back we can all discuss it. But right now you are hungry?” He inhaled greedily. “Bird!” she called raising her voice slightly, “Our dragur needs to be fed.”

“Be right there, Hon.”

 

C

 

Horse had come back with the five decent sized fish that had been in the trap. He'd dropped the retted hemp stalks outside the door (they couldn't get any wetter) and hung the string of fish out of his way before he shook himself off like a great shaggy dog. The flying water spattered everywhere and sizzled on the hearthstones. Both Tod and Horse guffawed at the others wiping off the shared rain.

 

Dragging off his sodden tunic, Horse tossed it over a crossways pole that served as a drying rack and settled himself by the fire to cook the fish. Still chuckling he finally remembered to sketch a bow in Tod's direction. 

Honey leaned forward and stirred the pot of greens she had put to simmer. “Well, I was telling Tod that we need to be moving on. He really needs to feed more, at least more than we can give him.”

 

Bird had moved closer to the fire and Tod hitched himself over to settle between them, he leaned back against Bird to watch the interaction.

 

“You said you'd think on the best route, and whether we could manage to get a donkey.” Bending to peer around Tod and into Bird's face she asked: “Didn't you say something about the river route being risky because of the Roman _Classis Germania 1_ boats patrolling that whole stretch of the Rên?” 

 

“Ya, but it seems to be left to their commander as how diligent they are” Bird commented “I heard that the legate Marius Maximus2, is too busy scribbling his histories to pay much attention to the business of the province.”

 

“Well, be that as it may, we can't count on there being a lax commander;“ Bird added, “plus I think a donkey would make us too conspicuous.”

 

“If we move at night, I can ride a Horse, not a donkey.” Tod smiled impishly.

 

Three mouths gaped and then grinned at his light baritone.

 

 

C 

 

Tod watched his people while they ate and chattered, occasionally turning to include him in a conversation. He'd always kept his own council, maybe it had become a habit after spending so much time watching the animals on the mountain, he'd rather observe. 

 

Then, then, afterwards, after he'd been enslaved, he couldn't find anything to say. He was filled with shame and as a branded slave, he could never go home, back to his clan.

 

Sometimes he'd talk to Merulla, she'd been good to him. He wanted to do something nice for her which is why................

 

Later, he'd think about it later. Right now they had to decide where to stop on the way to Confluentes3 (later generations would call the city to grow on this point Koblenz, but for now the place retained its Latin name which said nothing more than it was where two rivers, the Rhine and the Moselle, met).

 

Horse and Bird had a game going flicking the little fish bones into the fire, until Honey snapped, “Quit! That stinks.” and stomped outside to clean the dishes.

 

It did stink but Tod thought if his fingers had finished regrowing, he probably'd joined in. He turned his face away trying to maintain a stoic calm. _So hard, I miss those days._

When Tod looked for Honey, she was just coming back inside and he was seized with a powerful gnawing in his belly. He'd forgotten how hungry he still was.

 

Honey noticed, one look at the Elder's fixed gaze and she knew they were in trouble. “Pay attention! Wash your hands now! You reek of fish!” 

 

Softly, softly, she approached Tod hands palm upwards; “shuuuush, shuuush, shuush. It's your turn. Here's Horse. Come now, we'll take care of you.”

 

Even before the ritual slash had been made in Horse's forearm Tod was crouched, waiting to ease the ache in his belly. Later he would be ashamed how his instincts had overwhelmed him. If Honey hadn't kept her eye on him he would have hurt one of them.

It _had_ been worse right after he'd been turned. Why did his mind keep coming back to that awful night? He needed to focus on his monstrous needs for blood and violence, keep them under control. He wished he could watch 'Tura die all over again.

 

C

 

Tod was still sprawled on the floor replete, head propped up on one hand. Bird slouched against one of the support beams while Horse acted the signpost. Cambete and Argentoratum4 were south of them, ahead of them lay maybe five days of travel5 before they got to Confluentes, where their river, the Mosella joined the Rên. The three had decided to retrace their path rather than venture cross country.

 

The next town was less than eight (Roman) miles6 from where they were; not a huge place but it was on the west side of the Rên, straddling the Roman road at the intersection of quite a few well traveled routes. Where there were travelers, there would be riffraff; and where there was riffraff there would be easy pickings. Brucomagnus, here we come.

 

Horse voiced their feelings when he commented:”It is best for us to follow the road right now, but I think we all will be happier when we are sheltered by the mountains.”

 

Bird looked at Tod. “We will be ready to leave at first dark tomorrow – unless you'd rather travel during the day, it might be risky, but it would save time.”

 

Tod shrank back into the gloom of the hut, hunching down like a threatened cat.

 

“I'll take that as a no, then.”

 

Honey heaved a great sigh as she mentally started running through everything she had to fit in her pack. _Just when I was really getting to know this place, ugh, I am such a stick-in-the-mud._

 

C

 

 

There wasn't much left of the evening, Bird was tootling a soothing melody on one of his larger pipes; Horse had combed out his hair and was basking in the warmth of the fire. Honey noticed that Tod kept to the shadows; she wasn't sure if he was angry or unhappy.

 

“Come outside with me, Tod, let's check out the rain, it is still coming down pretty hard. You can try out the gift they made for you.” She pulled out the cane that the guys had cut to measure; Tod doubtfully started to stand.

“Wait, wait. Somebody showed me a good way to do this.” She crouched to hold his right leg. “See, you've got the whole back of your foot, heel and all, on the right side, but only the beginnings of the heel on the left side.”

Tod, annoyed, looked down at Honey. “Wait, let me finish. I know this will sound wrong, but it is backwards from what you'd think.” Honey over balanced and thumped down on her butt, which got a snort from Tod.

“Now, hold the stick in your left hand, and make it march in time with your right foot. Back wards, huh? But it holds you steady when you are trying to push off with the left and doesn't twist your back.”

Tod experimented with the staff, it was still dot-and-carry but he was elated to be getting around under his own power. He looked up from his maneuvers and grinned.

“Granny taught me it.”

 

C

 

Tod tried to practice moving around in the hut but it was painful to put weight on the tender ankle joint of his left leg and he found himself flinching away from any pressure on his healing feet Although he wanted to avoid the nerves shrieking with pain, he wanted to be mobile even more. It seemed to get easier and easier until he caught sight of Bird's wide eyes and open mouth.“What, what's wrong? Are bats flying out of my ears?”

 

From behind him Honey's voice whispered: “Maybe not bats, but you are....flying, that is.”

Tod was so startled his carry left and dot right got all tangled up with the stick and he ended up a heap on the floor staring at the rafters.

 

“Gentle lady, what just happened?” Tod wondered.

 

%

1The Roman Navy's [Classis Germanica](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Navy#Classis_Germanica), charged with patrolling the [Rhine](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhine) and the [North Sea](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_Sea) coast, was based in _Castra Vetera_ and later in _Agrippinensis_. Wikipedia.

2http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marius_Maximus

3http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Gaul_IVth_century_AD.svg

4 Argentoratum or Argentorate was the [ancient](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Classical_Antiquity) name of the [French](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/France) city of [Strasbourg](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strasbourg). The [Romans](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Empire) under [Nero Claudius Drusus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nero_Claudius_Drusus) established a military outpost belonging to the [_Germania Superior_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germania_Superior)[Roman province](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_province) close to a [Gaulish](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gauls) village near the banks of the [Rhine](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhine), at the current location of [Strasbourg](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strasbourg), and named it **Argentoratum**. The name "Argentoratum" was first mentioned in 12 BC and the city celebrated its 2,000th birthday in 1988; however, "Argentorate" as the [toponym](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toponymy) of the Gaulish settlement had preceded it before being [latinized](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latin), though it is not known by how long.[[1]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Argentoratum#cite_note-0) As systematic archaeological studies between 1947 and 1953,[[2]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Argentoratum#cite_note-1) conducted by Jean-Jacques Hatt, archaeologist and director of the [_Musée archéologique de Strasbourg_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mus%C3%A9e_arch%C3%A9ologique_%28Strasbourg%29), have shown, Argentoratum was destroyed by fire and rebuilt six times between the first and the 5th century AD: in 70, 97, 235, 355, in the last quarter of the 4th century, and in the early years of the 5th century. It was under [Trajan](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trajan) and after the fire of 97 that Argentoratum received its most extended and fortified shape.[[3]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Argentoratum#cite_note-2) From the year 90 the [Legio VIII Augusta](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legio_VIII_Augusta) was permanently stationed in Argentoratum

5<http://orbis.stanford.edu/># the journey of 295 k (184 miles) should take 4.5 days on foot

6The Roman mile equivalent to onethousand six hundred and seventeen yards is one thousand strides long, each stride is comprised of two paces. The genuine original mile.. (mille = 1000)


	13. Might Have Beens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time of Tod's turning creeps up on him and justice is served, sometimes.
> 
> The brilliant penpractice keeps my head on straight.

Might Have Beens: or Living in the Subjunctive. 

 

**200 CE**

If it hadn't been for that spoilt twat 'Tura, he would have lived out his days as a priest and leader for his clan. He and Artos (even after two centuries he remembered him) had talked long into the night about how they would do things when they were grown. There was no doubt in their minds that when the time came, they would be, if not heroes, just leaders and the clan would prosper.

 

Artos already had his eye on a girl; her impish sense of humor would make her a good companion and her thick mane of glossy chestnut hair betokened excellent health. Her freckles and dancing laugh didn't hurt either. He'd spoken to Tarvorix, who had agreed to approach her father. A very suitable match.

 

Tod had known that he would probably never marry, his duties as priest would make that difficult. Of course he would have a house keeper, and probably children (if his track record were any indication). Like his Uncle Cat he would be able to watch over his people and advise whichever of his half brothers became chief.

 

He missed the mountains, he missed the potent sunlight of the heights, and the swirling diamante snow of winter. He regretted losing all of these things but what he missed most was _his_ place. He'd lost _his_ world, he missed _his_ people.

 

He'd begun to wonder if perhaps 'Tura hadn't managed to snip all thethreads that made up the tapestry of his life; at length he decided what remained of the weave might be darker, and linked with another clan, but still part of the weave.

 

Tod would mind those threads, tend them, keep them strong. Perhaps.....

 

C

 

There was pain, there was retreat from pain......and then he flew.........a gift. Maybe floated would be better word. Every once in a while _something_ valuable came out of 'Tura's mouth, though it was usually something Yaz had told her. He seemed to have something of Yaz' gift too; not so much invisibility, more of a don't-see-me.

 

These were good, these were ways he could help his people. Perhaps no longer a victim. _Yesss_... Honey, the rain?”

 

C

 

Bird and Horse laughed as Honey helped him strip off his clothes and he zipped joyously out into the deluge. She hung their stuff up along with Horse's and hissed as she stepped under the sheets of water cascading off the roof.

“Cold!”

Tod whipped past and poked her ribs. “Tag, you're it!”

“Toddddd! That is so not fair,” she squealed and splashed off in pursuit.

 

C 

 

While they fussed with the fire and waited for the pair to come back, Bird elbowed Horse in the side. “I think he let her catch him, he _is_ feeling better.” 

“Ya, I think you're right.” 

 

C

 

Tod turned abruptly and caught Honey just as she barreled into him. They were both gasping with laughter and slick with rain. 

 

Now that his tongue had healed he could ask the questions that had been burning in him. Reaching up he palmed her wet hair (he so wanted his fingers to be there), “You are still a maiden?”

Customs hadn't changed that much, and unbound hair, amongst his people, meant maiden.

 

“Ya,” she spoke against his ear since the rain drummed loudly around them. “I will have to do something about that soon. I cannot mate within the clan, the blood ties are too close.” Honey looked away from Tod. “I will not marry, since as a priestess, my time will be spoken for; but my duty to the clan is that I must at least breed.”

 

“Your custom does not demand that you remain a maiden?” Tod asked.

 

“Nah, we are too few..... my brother/cousins are forbidden to me, we were raised like triplets anyway. I really would like to. To, get it over with, before I look for a baby daddy …..mmmmm, are you offering?” 

 

“Yes, I'm offering,” he still lisped a bit, it was sweet. “But I think we would be more comfortable inside.”

 

C

 

As they found their way back to the charcoal burner's hut, Tod couldn't stop himself from asking: “If you are not going to wed, how would you find a baby daddy?”

 

Honey cut her eyes at Tod, “Oooooh, I'd look for about the same thing you'd look for in a stallion.”

 

Tod exploded with laughter; he'd laughed more this night than he had in centuries.

“Please explain that...the images I'm getting are too funny.”

 

“First you have to describe the images, I'd like to laugh about the prospect too.”

 

“Well, I thought of you at a horse fair, asking the traders to show you each stallion's paces, and then you looking at their teeth, feet and equipment.” He started laughing again. “I can't imagine what a guy would do if you asked to see their teeth, and other bits.”

 

Honey snorted and turned away. “It's _important_! I don't want to have kids with rotten teeth or crooked legs.” She started to chuckle too. Before long they had to hang on to each other they were laughing so hard.

 

C

 

Standing on the rock slab that served as the stoop, they held out their feet to rinse off the mud in the rain sluicing off the roof. Tod was not as mucky since he'd been floating but Honey had managed to spatter him a couple of times.

 

Horse was already snoring softly and Bird was just settling down when they ducked under the door lintel. Honey reached for the rough linen she had left out as a towel and began to dry Tod off, muttering to herself.

 

“I wish you were still human, you'd make a great baby daddy,” as she rubbed down his torso.

 

He sighed, his gray eyes looking inward”Ya, I think I was.”

 

“What‽‽” Honey stood up so quickly she almost clipped Tod's chin. “You were what‽”

 

“Baby daddy. It was part of my job to serve the Goddess, to help women who were having problems with conception,”After a moment he went on: “Babies are good for the clan, especially when they are blessed by the Goddess. I was told that they all had gray eyes, like mine. I saw this for myself a few times.” He rubbed his face with his healing palm, more to hide his sorrow than as an aid to memory.“This was a help for my Uncle Cat who was training me in the priesthood. Even after two generations there just weren't enough young men to go around, you know, all the battles with the Romans. Especially after the one at the Sabis, so many gone. The older men were delighted to take young second wives, but sometimes things didn't work out as well as they'd hoped. Then the Goddess' aid was sought.”

 

Nodding thoughtfully. Honey dried her arms and challenged: “So you are experienced?”

 

Tod seemed to agree as he drifted closer. “Comb your hair and we will talk about it.”  


C

 

It had been a long while since he'd had the liberty to choose his own bedmate. A long while since he'd had any liberty at all. Not since the Legate had made him his whore and he'd encountered that wretch Spurius Corbulo Valgus, 'Tura's minion and a nasty, scuttling, gossip mongering, shit beetle.

 

As captive, as slave, as childe to a capricious mistress, as chattel given over to the hand of her minion; he'd had a very long while to think about the choices he'd made that brought him here. The runes had foretold this, he had just not read them aright. No matter how often he had queried the runes, as man and boy he had only seen what he wanted to see, never the path he actually trod.

 

C

 

**10CE**

Kit's feet and heart had been set on this path by all the winter's tales he'd heard while crouching quietly in the shadows, listening to the elders.

Over beakers of solstice-ale, old grievances were unearthed and foolish escapades recounted. After more than a few refills someone would always bring up the death of the Apa's father's older brother at the battle of the Sabis. A mighty feast for ravens, very few of the men returned from that riverside, though many had set out.

 

In warrior's cadence the Roman's fighting abilities were praised and battle tactics were given their due. Few were singled out for honor in the battle, save the one who became Caesar. He seemed to be everywhere, urging his men on, reviving their spirits, reforming their battle lines. Going so far as to take up a sword himself and fighting on the front lines.

 

Even so, one of theirs had been killed and there was a grudge held – they would not join in a treaty with the Romans until the matter had been settled.

 

Kit felt the weight of that blood debt on his shoulders, his was the third generation that carried it and it was time someone acted. 

 

He didn't mind so much that he'd been pushed aside by his half brothers. Of course his step mother had his father's ear now and would speak in her children's favor. If he could only get his father's respect, it would be enough. To a young buck, that had meant far more than the honor of being the-priest-up-mountain. 

 

Even though Artos was ready to settle into his life, Kit still felt restless, felt that cursed itch to experience more, to move, to feed his spirit. The chaos in his soul sent him like a stone straight from a sling, right into that pass, splayed out like an offering before the Romans.

Was that hunger laid on him by the the Three Ladies? To chivy him onto the road they'd spun?

 

His uncle Cat had tried to help him accept the path set out for him. It was an honorable and noble death to be chosen as the sacrifice. Cat had thrown the runes many times to gain understanding. No matter how many times Kit rubbed them between his fingers, breathed on them, warmed them with his palms. Invariably these runes spilled out:

 

**t** The spiritual warrior, the archer of the sky Gods. 

He took it to mean that the warrior was his true self; he should have thought more on the rune giver, the God who sacrificed himself to gain knowledge of the runes.

**Y** Nourishment for the soul, the yew tree symbolizing death, difficulties arising at the beginning of a new life.

The yew spoke of the power to avert defeat, but also cautioned against lusting after a particular outcome; wait on the will of the Goddess. Patience is better than chasing your wyrd. What young man possesses patience?

 

**z** The Sedge, rushes or Elk, develop self control to protect your spirit during times of transition and change.

The deep rooted sedge and the wide branching antlers of the third rune should have reminded him to be steady within himself, take responsibility for where he is instead of believing he was protected.

 

When Cat cast the rune-stones great trials and great change clattered to the floor. Almost every time Kit delved into the pouch to seek a runic guide, his fingers retrieved the warrior's arrow. 

 

C

 

**59-58 BCE**

 

Corbulo found himself somewhere in Gaul, miserably trailing behind Caesar’s legions; weeks ago his get rich schemes had been left in the dust of the Marais. The decent climate had also been left behind. Now he was surrounded by evening fogs occasional drizzle, and probably on their way to another battle. At least some other poor schmucks would have to build the bridge.

 

He had absolutely no intention of fighting, since he was hopeless in anything more organized than a bar fight. Corbulo had originally had signed on as a Cacula - (an un-enlisted camp servant) with a pack full of things he thought to sell to the soldiers - he'd seen the kinds of things the old timers had flocked to in the market at home –and he was determined to make his fortune.

 

Or at least enough to resume his former existence as a bar fly.

He'd been raised in Massilia,1 fled to Forum Julii one step ahead of his creditors. He was a louche character, fond of hanging around wine shops, trading on his former status as a younger son from a small time merchant family. Fond of wagers, gambling and gossip, they called him the dung beetle for his love of gathering choice tidbits of gossip and rolling them into a large ball of shit.

 

By the time Caesar's legions were closing on the River Sabis Corbulo's glib tongue and classical Greek features had worn out their welcome, no one had his back when the irate natives swept through the unfinished defenses of the castra (camp). 

 

He got in a few swipes with a knife and an ineffectual nut punch before he was gut stabbed with a spear and then thoroughly stomped as those stinking Gauls overran the camp.

 

C

 

“Tura found him at dusk when she came to tap her share of the thirty five thousand dead and wounded. Damn, that Julian2 was a fiiiine general!

Oooooh, lookie what I found. What a cutie, even all stomped on. Deliciously handsome, such soulful dark eyes, such a bite-able full lower lip and elegant nose. And nothing … Nothing, like Yaz. The dangling silver coin with the lion stamped on the face would have to go. 'Tura hissed at the offensive item as she cast it aside. Already tanked up she threw her new boy-toy over her shoulder and darted off. She would make herself a minion, ummmm-hummm.

 

C

 

**13CE**

Tavorix and Cap brought a remarkable tale back to clan home. Apparently the incident at the spruce grove had been a hot topic and the auxiliaries had talked of nothing else. Most of the un-Romanized tribes, both Gauls and Celts, were known for their strong clan ties. Such a bald betrayal laid a stink on Stud's whole family.

 

Three of the foragers had been in a position to see the big eared youth extend his bow as Kit raced to divert attention from his wounded friend on the ground. Neatly but treacherously done, the bow snagged his ankles and down the boy went. The traitor vanished between the trees like smoke.

 

“Three of the men were willing to swear as to the actions of the false clansman.” Tarvorix lifted his chin and looked into the Apa's eyes. “You are judge as well as clan-father, you decide.”

 

“Attack on a priest, as well as treachery is a grievous matter. I must hear it all before I judge.” the Apa turned his eyes to the mountain thoughtfully.

 

The men jostled each other and stamped their feet, working themselves up into a rage while the Apa continued looking at the mountains, grim lipped.

 

Older women looked meaningfully at each other, nodding; mothers looked to their daughters and muttered about bad blood; the girls twittered, not yet understanding that no member of Stud's family or kin would be considered as marriage material, for fear of the taint of treachery.

 

For one ill-thought-out action the men intended to end his life, the women would end his line.

 

C

 

Before dusk Cat climbed up the track to clan home dragging a trussed, bedraggled Stud. “He tried to run,” was the only explanation.

 

The Apa had not left off his meditation of the escarpment that sheltered clan home. Not shifting his eyes, he asked: “What is your story, boy? Why did you run?”

 

Cornered the boy began babbling, ”I didn't do anything, it wasn't my fault. He just pushed in there. He fell. And I got scared because of all the soldiers, they all had their swords out. I had to run or I would have gotten killed.” Stud's tongue tripped over his cowardice.

 

Cap spoke up: “The auxiliaries said that the soldiers didn't show up until later, after the kids had left.”

 

The Apa grunted and finally looked at Stud. “We have heard your story and we have heard the tale of those that witnessed your treachery.” The fury in his voice was sharpened by the whetstone of sorrow. “I have decided, only death will wipe out the shame of your action.” The Apa turned to the clan “We will _all_ act to cleanse our clan. Take him to the base of the cliff. The rocky soil that he dishonored will be the end of him.”

 

So it was done, the Apa threw the first stone sped by a curse on his family, then Cat laid his priest's curse with a well placed shard; Kit's brothers each took a turn. Artos' missile had so much anger behind it, the force shattered Stud's ribs. All were careful not to deliver the killing blow until everyone had a chance to heap scorn on the broken screaming youth. The _coup de grâce_ was dealt by the Apa with a rough and blackened stone large enough to smash Stud's jaw and brow at one time. All that remained was a pile of rubble and a tuft of lank nondescript hair riffling in the breeze.

 

C

 

**15CE**

Tod had changed while he had been under the hand of the Legate. He thought he had gotten taller, and he knew he had gotten stronger, had filled out more. The constant lifting and twisting while loading the hypocaust added mass to his torso and thighs; the pulsing heat from the furnace sweated off any excess. Pushing the hand-stone around the quern to grind the finest flour when he helped in the bakehouse built other muscles. He would always have a compact build but he had sweated his way from wiry rock scrambler all the way to solid. 

 

No matter how many treats Merulla slipped him, he was always hungry. When he wasn't chaotically brooding on his captivity he was thinking about food; in between those times he dreaded a summons from the Legate. He hated that he'd been stripped of his self respect as a warrior. He hated that he feared the Legate and the power he held over him. He hated the men who spat at him. His stomach churned with it. A very bad combination with hunger.

 

After all that had happened, he wasn't sure he could ever be with a girl again. His mind seized when ever that urge tickled at him. The shame rose right up and pressed on the inside of his eyeballs. Then it all spun back into a tooth grinding maelstrom of anger.

 

Tod wasn't proud that he rejoiced when the Legate found someone new to be his verbera3; a pretty and exotic little bath slave he'd found on one of his inspection tours. Tod had a feeling she was going to poison the old pervert – which was just fine with him; he just hoped she wouldn't get caught. 

 

C

 

After a full turn of seasons, Tod was permitted more freedom, which meant he was sent on errands around the camp. Since all castrum were laid out on exactly the same grid they were very easy to get around in but also extremely easy to get lost in – one block of barracks4 looked much like the next. The most obvious difference lay in the soldiers hanging around each porch gossiping. Whatever was happening within or without the walls of the camp circulated like a brush fire. 

 

The very best gossip was to be heard in the kitchens. Which officer made a roaring fool of himself, who was caught stealing, a troop of acrobats performing in the canabae legonis5.

 

The Primus Pilus (leading centurion) had become greatly enamored of one of the contortionists leaving the rest of the officers to make do with whatever else was on offer. Rumors of a new and talented whore in the Canabae distracted their attention from the gymnasts and the men seen leaving her embrace staggering and starry eyed only added to her luster.

 

Tod was always pleased to tag along with Iberius when he was sent to fetch items from the Canabae. All the bits and bobs needed for the household were gotten locally. The earthenware and baskets to be had around here were especially nice.

 

Merulla was particularly taken with the fine sieves made in one of the workshops there and vowed she needed another set. While they were out they also spied a few particularly toothsome blackberries at the camp market at Porta Quintana _6_ and made arrangements to have some delivered on the morrow. In the Canabae the shop of a cheese monger from up country caught their eyes next and Tod was able to assure Iberius that that kind of cheese was very palatable and worth trying; then Iberius found one of his countryman selling knives and stopped for a natter about affairs on the peninsula. The outer market was always lively, swarming with women and children. It felt as though he were almost within touching distance of his former life. Often he lagged behind, raptly watching people. 

 

Before they knew it, dusk was coming on and it was time for them to hustle. Taking a shortcut through an alley, feeling secure in their station as the Legate's slaves. 

 

Iberius brushed past a pallid fellow lounging in a dark doorway. “Way, make way!” he warned, making sure Tod could pass with his burdens.

 

The lurker eyed them and they put on a little more speed, glancing over their shoulders while hurrying through the gates. 

 

Iberius was the one to comment: ”Nasty fellow, that one.”

 

Eyes continued to follow them from the dark alley.

 

C

 

'Tura had fed very well from the legionaries; glamoring a lusty soldier was child's play. By the end of the evening she was rosy with her greed. Mostly, poor Corbulo was left to fend for himself – she really didn't like to share. Although it _was_ kind of unappealing when he got too pale, then she would let him at her leftovers.

 

He was so desperate for the crumbs from her table that he would bring pretties for her to play with, hoping to regain some favor. She liked it when he brought jewelry, although there wasn't much gold, the Canabae ran more to silver. The gold was inside the treasure vault of the camp.

 

Trotting after her as they made their way to their resting place, Corbulo started blathering about some great find. _Oh Gods, she wished he wouldn't talk to her back_ _that way_. 'Tura stopped, turned around and hissed: “I told you not to talk to my back! Unless it is VERY important.” J _ust like a dog begging for attention. Some nights she was tempted to end him – what ever made her think that turning this idiot was a good idea._

 

“Mistress?”

 

“Alright! What is it? I'm facing you now! It is almost dawn.”

 

“Mistress I saw a tattooed priest, the kind you always remark on, heading for the castra.”

 

“You wait until now to tell me? Aaaargh!”

 

“I didn't want to disturb you, you seemed quite occupied.”

 

“DO I HAVE TO THINK FOR YOU!” _frickin' idiot._ “Tell me about it at dusk.”

 

C

 

'Tura rose at nightfall, not yet at three hundred years she was still strictly bound by dusk and dawn. She'd kind of gotten used to resting in the dirt, but her 'clients' didn't like it; her dinner depended on her toilette. She washed, bound up her breasts (as was the Roman custom – don't offend the natives, _yes Yaz, I remember Yaz_ ), rouged her mouth, nipples and cheeks, then piled her hair artfully on her head. The new yellow dress, _yes_ , with the delicate green sandals.

 

Corbulo had become such a _bore_ , he always seemed to be ki-yi-ing like a kicked dog. She wondered if he actually _had_ found something interesting. The cache of jewelry had been pretty nice. She'd been looking for a priest since before she'd gotten Corbulo. She needed to know about _things_ , unfortunately she hadn't paid attention while her mother explained. The only thing she was _ever_ interested in was not being the daughter of a slave.

 

'Tura packed up her makeup case and secured the straps. She wasn't going to get caught unprepared again. If they had to _run_ she'd be ready. She couldn't put a kit together just like _that_! It took for-ev-er.

 

'Tura was afraid, afraid she had fumbled the proper rituals and sacrifices. Bad _dark_ things pursued her, she needed a priest to avert the vengeful spirits and ill luck that dogged her steps. It certainly wasn't _her_ fault, she'd done all she could. Yaz had explained that as dragur her god was now Zalmoxis 7 and she must honor him or _terrible_ things would happen. She kept looking over her shoulder waiting for the fury of the God to find her.

 

“So tell me Corbulo, what of the tattooed man you saw last night?”

 

He replied, interspersed with splashing, as he washed off the dirt of his resting place. “Mistress, he was young, fit and comely, but a slave; there was an elaborate tattooed creature that writhed up his back, jagged bands around his upper arms and an inked neck piece that circled below his clavicles and across his upper shoulders. He carried packages for the Legate's senior slave Iberius.”

 

“Corbulo: you are familiar with the arrangement of the Legate's quarters?”

 

“Yes, Mistress. I looked it over last week.”

 

“We will find ourselves a good vantage point tonight. You should hope fortune is on our side.”

 

C

 

Tod was afraid. 

 

The Legate was entertaining, which meant bad things for him. The Tribunis Laticlavis8, the praefectus castrorum9 and even the primus pilus10 would be in attendance. Rumor had it that there was stirrings along the frontier and parts of the Legate's legions might be detailed to help see to the matter.

 

The Legate was not amused.

 

Tod knew he would be part of the entertainment.

 

C

 

Tod also knew he was angry enough to do something stupid, really stupid. The anger was pounding in his throat, pushing him to throw caution, common sense, and self preservation to the winds. 

 

After the day meal Tod scuffed his way out the the latrines, hungering for freedom so desperately that it tore at the fibers of his spirit. . 

 

Waiting in the latrine was the old broken slave whose life consisted of wiping the shit off of Roman butts, his badge of office? A long rod with a damp sponge affixed to one end. The brand of FUG on his cheek marked him as a runaway and his broken ankles kept him from repeating his action. Daily Tod was reminded of the punishment that awaited him if he tried to escape. 

 

There was no honorable death here.

 

C

 

**200CE**

That was almost two centuries ago, he'd avoided one horror only to become tangled in a nightmare. He would cast the runes with Bird again, perhaps this time he would understand.

 

 

1 Massalia was one of the first Greek ports in Western Europe,[[13]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marseille#cite_note-12) growing to a population of over 1000. It was the first settlement given [city status](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polis) in France. Facing an opposing alliance of the [Etruscans](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Etruscan_civilization), [Carthage](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carthage) and the [Celts](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Celts), the [Greek colony](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colonies_in_antiquity) allied itself with the expanding [Roman Republic](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Republic) for protection. This protectionist association brought aid in the event of future attacks, and perhaps equally important, it also brought the people of Massalia into the complex Roman market. The city thrived by acting as a link between inland [Gaul](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaul), hungry for Roman goods and wine (which Massalia was steadily exporting by 500 BC),[[14]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marseille#cite_note-13)[[15]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marseille#cite_note-14) and Rome's insatiable need for new products and [slaves](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slavery_in_ancient_Rome). Under this arrangement the city maintained its independence until the rise of [Julius Caesar](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julius_Caesar), when it joined the losing side ([Pompey](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pompey) and the [optimates](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Optimates)) in [civil war](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caesar%27s_Civil_War), and lost its independence in 49 BC . Wikipedia.

2 Gaius Julius Caesar was a member of the Julia, a prominent family

3Verbera:whipping girl f. of verbero: whipping boy.

4 See http://youtu.be/Z4IcdSTV9TY for what it looked like

5 **Canabae** or **Canabae legionis** was a civilian settlement inthe vicinity of a Roman [castra](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castra) for the purpose of housing

military dependents and civilian contractors who serviced the base.

6 In peaceful times the camp set up a marketplace with the natives in the area. They were allowed into the camp as far as the units numbered 5 (half-way to the praetorium). There another street crossed the camp at right angles to the _Via Decumana_ , called the _Via Quintana_ , "5th street". If the camp needed more gates, one or two of the _Porta Quintana_ were built, presumably named _dextra_ and _sinistra_. If the gates were not built, the _Porta Decumana_ also became the _Porta Quintana_. At "5th street" a public market was allowed

7According to Herodotus the Greeks of the Hellespont and the Black Sea tell that Zalmoxis was a slave on Samos of Pythagoras, son of Mnesarchos. After being liberated, he gathered huge wealth and, once rich, went back to his homeland. Thracians lived simple hard lives. Zalmoxis having lived amongst the wisest of Greeks - Pythagoras and had been initiated to the Ionian life and Eleusinian Mysteries. Building a banquet hall, he received the chiefs and his fellow countrymen at a banquet, he taught that neither his guests nor their descendants would ever die, but instead they would go to a place where they would live forever in a complete happiness. He then dug an underground residence and, once finished, he disappeared from the Thracians going down to his underground residence, where he lived for three years. The Thracians missed him and wept fearing him dead. The fourth year, he came back amongst them and thus they believed …. Zalmoxis.

8In the [Roman army](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_army) of the late [Republic](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Republic) and the [Principate](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Principate), the _**tribunus laticlavius**_ ("broad-striped tribune") was one of the six [military tribunes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_tribune) in a [legion](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_legion).

The post was created by the [Marian reforms](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marian_reforms). Its holder stood just below the [_legatus legionis_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legatus_legionis), the legion's commander, and above the other five [_tribuni angusticlavii_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tribuni_angusticlavii) (and later the [_praefectus castrorum_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Praefectus_castrorum)). The position was the first step of the traditional [_cursus honorum_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cursus_honorum), the formalized sequence of public offices held by Roman nobles of the [senatorial class](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Senate) (conversely, the _tribuni angusticlavii_ were [knights](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Equestrian_order)). Thus the _tribunus laticlavius_ would usually be a man in his early twenties who might belong to one of the richest families in [Rome](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rome) or be a close friend to the legionary commander. After two or three years in the army he would go back to Rome and be given a [government](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Government) job, usually a [quaestorship](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quaestor). Wikipedia.

 

9The _**praefectus castrorum**_ ("camp prefect") was, in the [Roman army](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_army) of the early [Empire](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Empire), the third-most senior commander of the [Roman legion](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_legion), after the legate ([ _legatus_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legatus)) and the senior [military tribune](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_tribune) ([ _tribunus laticlavius_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tribunus_laticlavius)). Wikipedia

10 The senior centurion of the legion and commander of the first cohort was called the _primus pilus_ (first [file](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File_%28formation%29)), a career soldier and advisor to the [legate](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legatus). Wikipedia

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've put together a play list for the readers of Parallex, a bunch of informative little videos, maybe even some music down the line.  
> http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0E352DF381AFB593


	14. The Last Sunset

The Last Sunset

200 CE

Tod wasn't dreaming, not really; it was more as though he were mired in a rising reverie. He wondered if it were part of his healing, he seemed to drift off into downtime pretty often.

15 CE

He _knew_ he would die soon. He'd been dirtied up and dragged out to be on display for the review of the troops. Tod felt the darkness looming over him. His anger glowed white hot like coals in a smithy, there would be no need for a funeral pyre, the flames would burst right out of him.

But still, somewhere, just out of reach, drifted the scent of hope. He was young, his heart wanted the world, wanted just a little more time to be alive, to feel, to experience … 

Although, there was probably only today.

He kept his head down and endured the clangor of the armor, the swords on shields, the shouted greetings for the officers and high mucky-mucks. The rotted Romans, to his shame, were celebrating the creation of the combined Province of Raetia and Vindelicia.

 

Things got worse when he was hustled into the bathhouse to be barbered and scrubbed like a pet dog. 

His heart sank when Merulla gently informed him that he was not to eat tonight since he had such an unpleasant habit of vomiting while being sexually abused.

Iberius passed him a mug of unwatered wine in an effort to help him dull the pain of what was coming. Tod wandered outside carrying the wine, and concentrated on the bits of dust drifting in the late afternoon sunlight.

Finally he sat on a stool that had been left in the yard and watched the sun sink into the hills. Beyond, there was rumored to be more mountains and another ocean, cold and gray and foreign lands wrapped in mist, where the new Caesars fought.

He was furious that he would die before seeing these wonders, the fire inside him burned with hatred for the Romans, those who had carelessly stripped his future from him. He would take a knife with him tonight and wreck havoc amidst their little entertainment.

But first he would watch the shadows creeping over the castrum, growing and seeping from the trees, as the sun was swallowed by the hills.

C

 _A shape shifted slightly catching his eye, that_ guy was over there, the one with the creepy eyes that they saw in the canabae. _Why was he hanging around the legate's kitchen yard? It wasn't right._

“Hai! You there!” Tod was suddenly uneasy and stood. “You should be outside the gates. You don't want them to catch you around here after dark.”

The intruder tipped his head to one side and smirked. “It won't be a problem, boy.”

Tod could hear Merulla calling him from the kitchen doorway. As soon as he turned to answer her his arms were seized from behind. He only had enough time for a strangled yell. His mug of wine slipped free from his hand as he clutched at the arm crushing his throat. 

There was only a narrow thread of light on the horizon when Tod disappeared.

C

“Tch,” muttered Merulla, busily setting out the slave meal, “where is that fool boy? None of us would want what he's got waiting for him, but our bodies are not our own.” Raising her voice a smidge: “Iberius, would you go fetch him before we all get whipped.”

“I'm too old for this shit,” Iberius stomped so emphatically little puffs of dust rose around his sandals. “Tod!” He could just see the spilt wine and the mug rolling where it had been dropped.

”Diana, be merciful – the Legate will kill us!”

C

They never did find the boy. Of course the slaves were questioned under torture, some quite vigorously. Iberius was indeed too old for that shit and his heart gave out. The Raetian had been secured in the compound after the gates had been closed for the evening, but he not been seen since then. A mystery.

C

Tod regained a sense of self while choking on the dirt that clogged his mouth and nose. Spitting and snorting he tried to unfold himself from the ground. There was pressure on his back that he struggled to dislodge, finally rising to his knees and then his feet with clumps of earth sticking to him.

_Why was a woman laughing?_

Blinking frantically to clear his eyes, Tod bent over swiping at his hair and face, _eeechhh,_ _he was filthy!_

He continued, batting at his tunic and brushing off his legs. _I can't see anything yet_. _There are a man and a woman close by, talking and laughing. Just because no one has hit me or knocked me down again, doesn't mean it won't happen._

Tod braced himself for another assault as he peered into the shadows. His eyes felt odd and achy, although there was no moon the more his eyes ached the more the shadows seemed to lighten. Actually his whole face ached as though there were a big storm coming. He quickly put pressure just below his cheekbones, but that made his jaw hurt too. _Arrrgh_. _Alright, that didn't work_ ; he snorted violently, but his nose seemed clear. 

One solid inhale assured him both that his nose was clear and something was very wrong. _What was that odor? It was as though he'd fallen head first into an oddly compounded bowl of medicinal herbs. What the fuck was going on with his nose?_

Laughter bounced around the clearing, Tod whirled to confront his mockers. It was that creepy man from the canabae and the fancy whore.

“You make the funniest faces!” declared the woman in the yellow dress. “Come! Now!”

Tod found himself jerked along as though he were on a leash. Had his slave collar been exchanged for the invisible chains of a geas1?

C

200 CE

After almost two hundred years he still heard that laughter as he rose. Thank Dis she had been ended. He neither knew nor cared how or why. She was gone and her hold on him had vanished.

No feeding had been as disastrous as that first one though....

C

15 CE

He followed the pair down to a stream where the sloe-eyed prostitute ordered him to wash. Tod palmed some water to drink and relieve part of his misery when the laughter resumed.

“Oh let him drink – he'll learn faster that way.” Followed by more venomous giggles.

Tod'd barely swallowed five mouthfuls before he started to heave and retch, bringing up all the water and what felt like half his stomach. Creepy-man was laughing and gesturing at his misery.

“Wash! And hurry up about it. It is time to feed.”

C

Tod was dragged along, willy-nilly behind the still snickering pair. “Oh Mistress, this will be so amusing. I remember how much you enjoyed my first attempt.”

“Oh, yes, I remember, you got blood everywhere! It was like walking through a shambles.2”

_What new nightmare is this? Blood. A slaughterhouse. What is wrong with my face? The bones ache. What are they talking about?_

Although they seemed to be traveling quickly, Tod had no trouble keeping pace with the demonic pair. Soon he scented smoke, then unwashed humans, then something warm and beckoning. Something mouthwatering. He opened his mouth and panted lightly trying to get more of the deliciousness rolling over his tongue. _What am I doing?_ Even his nostrils flared bringing new sensations. Suddenly, not only could he smell and taste what was carried on the air but there was a new sense wedged in there, he could feel-see-smell heat near-by. Tod's nostrils quivered and he turned his face from side to side trying to pinpoint the source of these sensations.

“Oh, myyy, Corbulo! Look at that, how clever my new childe is! He is figuring it out all by himself.”

At that moment a deep and abiding hatred began to rot Corbulo's dead heart. _Not even one dark old and he's making me look bad._

“Let's see how he does, Corbulo. Let's see how good his instincts really are!”

C

200 CE

That poor man. Tod ended up throwing himself on the woodcutter and almost gnawing his way all the way through his neck. He had been barely conscious of the screams. Laughter faded in and out of his awareness as 'Tura and Corbulo swayed with mirth. He finished by sucking on the bloody gobbets to get at more of that addictive flavor.

C

15 CE

“Sheesh, what a pig. Put that mess down. Don't you look at me that way until you are clean again. I won't have you spoiling my new dress. Clean! Now!”

Tod was compelled to return to the stream where he sat in numb horror at what he'd just done. _Had he become a kobold, a troll, preying on the unwary? How did he get from the_ _kitchen yard of the Legate's mansion to sitting in a stream painted with a stranger's_ _blood?_ His mind buzzed with terror – _what had happened?_

He lay back hoping he might drown; then, disconsolate that monsters had really sharp teeth _and_ didn't need to breathe, he wept.

C

200 CE

It was only when he rose in company of these three that he didn't flash back to his first dark as often. They seemed to be a charm against those black memories.

He could hear their soft murmurs outside – ah they were to leave tonight. Tod flexed the stubs of his fingers, then massaged his knuckles working some of the ache out. Just as he was starting to work the stiffness out of his ankles Honey bustled in.

“Let me do that for you, Gamli.” She bobbed a funny little half bow in his direction and reached for his foot.

Their attitude towards him was odd, they showed respect and yet were familiar at the same time. “Honey, why do you bow to me?”

“Because, Tod, we are sure that you will be accepted by the clan. We are the rising leaders, we have chosen and we have a voice in this decision.” She perched on the bench beside him while massaging his feet and continued. “We show respect for you as our sword, our defender; just as you respect us as your shield and protectors.” She smiled at him softly.

“Bird's been working on the last bit of our saga. I think he said he was almost done – he told us this part today:”

_**Forever ravens feasting** _

Bird wandered in and joined in the chant, while Horse softly clapped the rhythm

_**on the red cloaks, talons** _

_**and little foxes on the fiercest** _

_**warriors. Stood the chance for three** _

_**to winnow through Raven's harvest. To reap** _

**_the reapers,_ **

Tod grinned at the mention of the red cloaks and beat the time out on his thigh.

_**reap** _

_**the reapers,** _

“Ya! I understand! I have carried a grudge against the Roman red cloaks since I was a human child. My bitterness has even grown.” Tod looked hotly into each pair of eyes. “The only weregelt3 I want is Roman blood.”

Bird added “We've had our own battles with the Romans. Because of their political and military pressure against the Saxons we were finally pushed out of our homes and forced to relocate to the west.4”

Horse rumbled his agreement, then turned to Tod. “Can you wait to eat until we are on the road? We are hoping to find a chance for you to have a deep feed.”

Tod looked bemused for a moment, then nodded. “I can wait, easily. I have gotten spoiled with you three taking such tender care of me.”

C

The three shouldered the leather straps of their basket-packs and secured them across their chests. Their belts were hung about with cups and suchlike and each carried a walking stick. Tod had no doubt that they were all well versed in the use of a quarterstaff and even Honey would be able to give a good account of herself. One good thwack from Horse would be the end of any assailant.

Tod amused himself by floating in patterns around the walkers. 

Bird wanted to know _Is it tiring? Could he go up higher? Faster?_

Until Honey scowled at him and admonished ”Tod is not a toy!”

C

Bird was so down at the mouth after Honey's scolding that Tod, to lift his gloom asked to be taught some verses of the Chatti Saga.

By this time they had gotten down to the road and were able to move four abreast. They were repeating the first section in unison.

_**On the mountain's shoulder** _

_**the Lady's heart and shield.** _

_**Rested undisturbed. Slumbered,** _

_**secure in the honor of their defender.** _

_**Unencumbered the Sword of the clan roved,** _

_**hunted, seeking the fleeting life force of fleeing prey.** _

**_Taking joy in thrumming pulse, thudding heart._ **

They were so busy going back and forth with the stanza that they hadn't noticed the footpads closing in on them. 

“'Ware!” of course Tod had sensed them first.

Thanks be. Their packs blocked any attacks from the rear. Although if any of the assailants had the sense of a flea, they could have grabbed onto the back lip of the baskets and flipped them like turtles.

The robbers must have assumed that their victims were stupid folk to be traveling at night, rather than being well enough equipped to face danger.

“Ha.” The three whipped around and began applying their sticks with elegance and precision. Meanwhile Tod was having himself a good old time riding one attacker like a balky hill pony. 

Moments later there was a tumble of bodies, much the worse for wear, and Tod kneeling, pupils dilated, getting ready to feed.

“Anyone have a knife handy? My fangs aren't up to the job yet.”

C

15 CE

He'd learned to feed neatly, but not until 'Tura had whipped him with silver to remind him that she thought having to get him clean clothes was boring and beneath her. She also didn't want to be shamed by having a grungy childe. Apparently it mattered.

After a while she got bored with his training and had Corbulo do the whipping, she couldn't be bothered and he put some energy into it.

'Tura only had an interest in him as long as she thought he could avert the wrath of Zalmoxis. Quickly Tod had admitted that he'd never heard of that god and that he only knew the rites for his Lady she barely permitted his company. And that only when Corbulo had done something she didn't like. Or she was particularly horny.

Infrequently 'Tura let Tod indulge his appetites on a Roman. He learned glamour to keep the red cloak from screaming and then let his anger and humiliation have free rein. It was never enough, he'd still lost everything, and he was still dragur.

They'd hunted amongst the Roman encampments and lines of march. They could no longer blend in with the locals, since Tod was so obviously a Roman slave which seriously cramped Tura's style. She'd loved the compliments and sparkly gifts she'd gotten as a high class whore and really thought it beneath her to go scavenging amongst the blood beasts.

Even when Tod stayed away from the camps and survived on the occasional wanderer, it was easiest for 'Tura to blame his proximity or Corbulo's idiocy for spoiling what ever scam she was running. 

Tod eventually came to terms with some of the other side effects of becoming a dragur. His fangs would snick down at the merest whiff of blood, the first aggressive posture signaling a fight, the faintest scent of people fucking. It was like he was twelve again and totally at the mercy of new impulses. That too. Every time he fed he was carried away by instinct. He spent his first decade embarrassing himself. Gah! He'd become such an animal!

'Tura set commands in place to maintain some control over his impulses, Tod had almost gotten them caught several times and was reined in just in the nick of time. Yaz had warned her – the younger the human when turned, the less likely they were to survive. Completely at the mercy of their impulses and moods, one moment enthralled by their new strength, the next totally morose and alienated. 

A maker's dictum was an amazing thing and 'Tura applied it frequently and liberally to keep Tod from killing himself, and Tod and Corbulo from killing each other. Eventually they were so hemmed in by her commands they could barely move.

After a generation of humans had come and gone, 'Tura had forgotten how lonely she'd been and only remembered Corbulo's incessant whining and hurt feelings and Tod's unremitting stroppiness. Both of them were a pain in her ass.

Finally 'Tura decided she needed a little time just to be herself – she was totally bored with this maker stuff – besides the kids were old enough to take care of themselves. Corbulo had been with her for better than two hundred and fifty years and he'd lost his appeal centuries ago, actually right around the time Agrippa had gone head on with the Germani (now _that_ was a feast for ravens). _He_ could take care of Tod, he seemed to enjoy it.

C

200 CE

Tod was _so_ full, one and one half humans were all together too much to suck down at one time. He patted his stomach and burped. Nope, he couldn't fit any more in.

Bird reminded him that he'd said that he'd been through here a couple of decades ago and rested in one of the caves on the mountainside. They were in a good spot, still surrounded by cliffs with a view of the _Rhenus_ floodplain opening up before them.

“D'ya think there would be room in the caves to store the men if we tie them up? If that were possible we could stay in Brocomagnus5. Will you be far enough from the river to be safe?”

“Ya, the caves I remember are only reachable by one such as I. They are very safe. Since I can now float I will take the humans up and tuck them away until next dark.”

Still fretting, as they rolled the bodies into the ditch, Honey wanted reassurance that he would be safe.

C

The whole town was rather betwixt and between more important places. But there it was. There was a fortified high point, currently garrisoned by Raetian auxiliaries, and a market place. 

Vercondos, one of the senior section leaders, had a lot on his shoulders. Ever since his archers had been detached from their regiment to help man this rustic fort at Brocomagnus, everything that could go wrong, did.

No one liked the countryside, it was too flat. An advantage if you were an infantryman, not so much as a sniper. Oh, they were perfectly capable of raining death down from the sky onto the opposition but he personally would rather pick a target and just kill the sucker.

These lands, while good for farming, were rife with pestilence in the summer and he'd already lost a couple of his men – one of them his cousin. Now he had to take on his cousin's 'wife' and children. He'd deliberately put off hooking up until he was _ready_ to settle. He liked a warm bed as well as the next man but he had too many responsibilities to be dragging his cousin's family around with him. She was nice and all – but.

Still, it was his responsibility, he sighed as he set off on another turn through the market place.

Something new, a musician by the tootling! Excellent! Two new somethings. A girl had packets of herbs laid out on a cloth and was talking to a granny while pointing to various mixtures.

Vercondos strolled in her direction, hmmmm, _niiiiice_. He hoped that she of the honey colored braids was the tootler's sister and not his girlfriend. He stood up straighter and settled his cloak in what he hoped were elegant folds. _She's looking, she's looking at me. My, my, my her eyes got wide when she turned in my direction. All warm and greeny-gold. A smile like sunrise. Stand up, girlie, pleeeese. That's right, ohhhh, man, I want that ass._

_Gotta be polite!_

Even though the granny kept asking her questions, Honey stood and stretched her back while keeping an eye on the soldier. Sweet Mother, thank you; I didn't think this was possible. She remembered telling Tod: “you'd make a great baby-daddy if you were still human.” There he stood, the same gray eyes, a little older, hair a little longer and sun-streaked, skin certainly darker, with a wonderful spark of humor right there at the corner of his mouth.

_%_

1 In [Irish mythology](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_mythology) and folklore, a _**geis**_ ([/](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:IPA_for_English)[ˈ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:IPA_for_English#Key)[ɡ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:IPA_for_English#Key)[ɛ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:IPA_for_English#Key)[ʃ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:IPA_for_English#Key)[/](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:IPA_for_English); [[ˈɟɛʃ]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:IPA_for_Irish); plural _geasa_ ) is an idiosyncratic [taboo](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taboo), whether of obligation or prohibition, similar to being under a [vow](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vow) or [spell](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spell_%28paranormal%29). The [Scottish Gaelic](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scottish_Gaelic) spelling "geas" is also seen.

2A term for an open-air slaughterhouse is a **shambles**.

3 **Weregild** (also spelled _wergild_ , _wergeld_ , _weregeld_ , etc.) was a value placed on every human being and every piece of property in the Salic Code ([Salic Law](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salic_Law)). If property was stolen, or someone was injured or killed, the guilty person would have to pay weregild as [restitution](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Restitution) to the victim's family or to the owner of the property.[[1]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weregild#cite_note-0)[[2]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weregild#cite_note-1)

The payment of weregild was an important legal mechanism in early [Germanic society](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germanic_society); the other common form of legal reparation at this time was [blood revenge](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feud#Blood_feuds.2Fvendetta). The payment was typically made to the [family](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Family) or to the [clan](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sibb). _Wikipedia_

 4The Chatti successfully resisted incorporation into the [Roman Empire](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Empire), joining the [Cheruscan](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherusci) war leader [Arminius](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arminius)' coalition of tribes that annihilated [Varus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Publius_Quinctilius_Varus)' legions in 9 AD in the [Battle of the Teutoburg Forest](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_Teutoburg_Forest). [Germanicus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germanicus) later, in 15,[[8]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chatti#cite_note-7) raided their lands in revenge, but Rome eventually responded to the Chatti's belligerent defense of their independence by building the [limes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limes) border fortifications along the southern boundary of their lands in central Hesse during the early years of the 1st century. A major raid by the Chatti into [Germania Superior](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germania_Superior) was defeated decisively by the legions in 50 AD.[[9]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chatti#cite_note-8) Roman sources identify the fabled [Mattium](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mattium), beyond the Eder, as the capital of the Chatti. Destroyed by Germanicus, its location is not known today but generally assumed to be in the wider neighbourhood of [Fritzlar](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fritzlar) north of the river [Eder](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eder).[[10]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chatti#cite_note-rga-9) _Wikipedia_

 5<http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brumath> the modern rendering of Brocomagnus.

 


	15. Mirror, Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a pause in the last town before the Rhine Valley opens up into a wide flood plain Tod loses control, Horse earns some coins, Bird sings for his supper, Honey sells some herbs and finds a candidate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My profuse thanks go to the community of writers who provide unending inspiration. I am particularly indebted to the nuts and bolts advice offered by the blogs "The Blood Red Pencil" and "Livia's Brainy Writer" blog.  
> Out of respect for the readers who may come across this blog I was challenged in each chapter to remain as emotionally genuine and as true to the material as I can be. The end result, I hope is to remind each of us, no matter how separated by time and culture, that we all have similar hopes and dreams.  
> As allways penpractice keeps me sane.

Mirror, Mirror  
Even though the granny kept asking questions Honey stood and stretched her back while keeping an eye on the soldier. Sweet Mother, thank you; I didn't think this was possible. She remembered telling Tod: “you'd make a great baby-daddy if you were still human.” There he stood, the same gray eyes, a little older, certainly darker, with a wonderful spark of humor quirking the corner of his mouth.

Horse was being pursued across the marketplace by a relentless street urchin.  
"Citizen, sir, you won't be sorry. My sister is very fine." puff, puff "A real blond and very young."  
Eldjarn, the Horse rounded on the boy and firmly told him to get lost. "I'm not interested in your sister, your mother or your aunt!"  
"Citizen, citizen! My brother is skilled in the lost arts of the east. He is the delight of many! Only three As."  
Horse growled down at him: "I don't want your public toilet of a brother either! I've got business to tend to, mihi molestus ne sis!1” and tossed a clipped coin in the kid's direction.

Honey and Bird were on the other side of the marketplace laughing at his futile dance trying to get away from the little beggar. They had struck up a conversation with the auxiliary and were pointing at the boy's antics and seemed to be filling him in.  
Vercondos listened to the banter amongst the three who were apparently cousins. Good, he wouldn't be stepping on any toes if he made a move on the girl. She was already cutting him flirtatious glances.  
“So, infantry, huh?” Honey speculated. “Where from? You look Raetian, or at least you look like a guy we met who was probably Raetian.”  
”Ya, I am. From near the Great Pass, Gray Alps2 3 region, part of the Cohors II Raetorum c.R.; we may be peregrini, but even though we aren't citizens we are part of a much decorated troop." Vercondos brushed at the medals on his harness, in case the pretty girl hadn't noticed them.  
As Honey compared the infantryman with the image of Tod that she carried in her mind she realized that the difference lay mainly in a stillness about their dragur, unlike the lively soldier's animated face, raised eyebrow and dimpled grin. His accent4 was a little different too. Honey tilted her head to listen more carefully. When he said cohors there was almost the sound of an extra h in there, like chorhors. Sexy.  
Shifting his helmet to his other arm, Vercondos pushed his thick hair back off his sweaty forehead – he should have had it cut yesterday when he'd gotten a shave. Well, sometimes the ladies liked longer hair, gave them something to hold on to. He sidled closer to the new girl.  
“Where do you and your cousins hail from, beautiful?”   
Honey's eyes slid towards the soldier as she rearranged her herb samples and re- settled her self on the hot paving stones of the marketplace.  
“West of Confluentes5, near the Mosella river.”  
Vercondos' eyebrows darted upwards, “Good wine country, eh?”  
“Yes, the grapes are fine, and we do well with them, but we like to tend them ourselves and not share our methods.” Slowly raising her eyes from the herbs, Honey teased: “We are pleased that our wines fetch such a good price in the market, occasionally we will even share the fruit with others.”  
Sliding his hand down his pilum for balance, Vercondos crouched down next to Honey .” I've heard the fruit is very sweet. How does one get a taste of these fruits of the Mosella Valley?” he asked with a charming smile.  
She was tickled that this man was quick witted enough to pick up on her word play - he passed the second test. Check. The first test had been health, he looked as though he had been part of the army for about ten years, that certainly spoke to his strength and endurance. Primary check.   
That smile, those strong white teeth passed another test. Check. Those powerful square hands didn't hurt either. Mmmmm, mmmm, mmm. Over all assessment: delicious. Honey flared her nostrils to take in his scent, mmmm, very healthy, very male...very attractive, yum.  
The soldier leaned closer when he picked up on Honey's interest, she was practically ready to crawl into his lap. His mouth watered and Vercondos had this sudden urge to lick her neck. He came to himself slightly when he dimly realized that he didn't even know her name.  
“Um, my name is Vercondos, I know that's a mouthful, but I hate most of my nicknames, smmca, mumten.” ducking his head in embarrassment during the last bit.  
“Well, officer of the renowned cohort, I'm called Honey, though my name is actually Disa. Now, you have to tell me what you were mumbling.”  
“Marten, at home they called me Marten, 'cause I was so scrappy and loved to scramble over the rocks.” He blushed a little and wondered why he was telling the – Honey all this stuff. Crap, he'd probably never see her again.  
Trying to save himself some embarrassment the soldier hauled himself to his feet and said he had to get back to his rounds.  
“Marten, will you be coming 'round later? It would be nice to get to know you better.” Honey leaned forward and put as much warmth into the suggestion as she could; she sensed he was drawn to her.  
Already their bodies were dancing the dance of the pheromones, their minds just had to catch on to the beat.

C

Gah, I feel bad fishing for a man this way, it would be so awkward to come right out and ask him if he would like to be my baby daddy. Sigh, needs must. I'll just keep telling myself that it is for the clan. It's not like I'm hurting him in any way as he's not allowed to marry as long as he is in the service (I wonder how much more time he has). I'm not keeping him from that... His eyes really do look a lot like Tod's!  
More customers for the herbs showed up and Honey earned not only a few small coins but was also able to barter herbs for fresh bread. Bird got a little more money for his songs but it wasn't until Horse came back that they could dust themselves off and consider a decent day-meal. He had ventured over to the Roman castrum and done some piece work for the blacksmith responsible for the horses of the Equitae.6  
There was a place on the other side of the square where a man was grilling bits of meat and a vegetable stand nearby selling early carrots, onions and beans; they would make a nice meal.  
C

After most of the tradesmen had scattered to eat and nap through the midday heat, Marten made another pass through the market. He swatted a couple of the lower ranked auxiliaries to remind them they were supposed to be on duty and not propping up the wine shop's walls. Coming abreast of the little bit of shade where the cousins had decided to snooze, Marten waved and mouthed 'later' to Honey before he ducked down one of the alleys bisecting old-town, sidestepping the laundry strung between the upper stories.  
Bird, enjoying the warmth of the wall against his shoulders, rolled his head towards Honey. “I wonder what Tod is going to think of Marten?”  
Honey pulled her knees up and dropped her head to rest on them. ”Oh, Lady, I hope it isn't a problem. He knows I'm supposed to come back carrying a new clan member under my tunic. Doesn't mean he won't be ticked.”  
Rolling his head back to center Bird thought a moment. “He was a priest, he should understand these things. You must honor the Lady-as-Eostre and bear a babe. We all know if you are barren you cannot serve.”  
Horse grunted and went back to sleep.  
C

Tod rose out of sorts, he was accustomed to having the hum of his people around him. Humpf, he'd never had any ties before but it hadn't taken long for them to become a part of him. He could barely feel the threads of those light bonds from a couple of miles away.   
He had a couple of bodies in the pantry, should he have both or save one for tomorrow? If he had only one that meant he'd have to water and feed the other which would be a lot of trouble. On the other hand – he wiggled his fingers at his private joke – all that blood he had yesterday had regrown his digits past the last joint. That much blood and one more day death should see his hands and feet completely healed. Tod tensed the area around his fang roots, (odd feeling, that) and heard the wet snick that signaled their presence. Feeling with his forefinger he was satisfied to find that the breadth was restored if not the former length. A vampire's fangs were much like his cock, as above so below. He stroked himself as he thought. A tall lean vampire had long narrow fangs, his were not so long but quite broad. His maker's fangs had been more delicate, but Mother was she fast!  
Scooting forward on the gritty floor to the opening of the rock crevice he dangled his feet over the edge, swinging them and humming as he considered. I could go my own way now, I am healed enough and have all the survival skills I need. She said that she had heard of dragur who surrounded themselves with blood slaves and luxury. The bond servants and indulgence became a weakness for them. She said it was safer to travel light and fast, like her maker. Perhaps She should have listened to her own advice and traveled smart, then she might've held on to her existence. Ha!  
But the other side of the coin was what his humans had sung in their saga:  
Unencumbered the Sword of the clan roved,   
hunted, seeking the fleeting life force of fleeing prey.   
Taking joy in thrumming pulse, thudding heart.   
Unencumbered the Sword roved, hunted.  
I'd like that, no Corbulo, NO CORBULO! Spiteful dog's turd that he is.  
If I went with the three to their clan home, might it be a trap? The saga spun a pretty tale but what did they want of me? 'Tura taught me to suspect all motives. She should have heeded her own lessons, Zalmoxis certainly was a fickle God; turned on her pretty quick no matter how many sacrifices she made. Blamed it on me too.  
They also sing that their dragur is   
like a long lost lover, far  
wanderer to be their home defender,

Both lover and far wanderer. Is that a true thing? Do I want to be both? Can I be?   
Or am I no different from the Romans? They treat each other honorably – or at least to the extent that the law requires. All else were no better than animals to them, to exploit or destroy according to their whim.   
Will my dark nature rise up until I turn and slaughter those that care for me? They were able to handle me when I was wild with hunger, or at least the three didn't run screaming with terror. But what if the rage seizes me and I slaughter all around me? What then? How many sides are there to this coin?  
Do I want what they offer? A place, a safe nest. Or only their easy blood?  
A small flame of hope lit in Tod; he saw that defending these people might be a way that he could still serve the Goddess even though he was a dead thing.  
Determined to see where these thoughts took him he fed deeply, disposed of the remains and sped into town.  
C

As soon as he was off duty Marten hustled back to the barracks, dumped most of his kit, picked up a fresh tunic and made his way to the baths. No time for a quiet steam and massage, he was focused on Disa (should he call her Honey?), just a quick wash. Should he use scent? Which one? Venus Verticordia7 advise me.  
In the end Marten chose a light citrus and pepper oil that didn't smell girly. He guessed it was the pepper that made it so expensive. His nerves were twitching as he quickly walked to the tavern where Honey (or should he call her Disa, if he didn't would she think him pushy?) was staying with her cousins. Spying her at a table, Marten tugged the folds his tunic straight where his belt had pulled them awry.  
"Hai Honey, how's the wine here?"  
It was the one called Bird that answered, "Marten, Marten, it is not trustworthy, I think we'd better stick to beer, I don't want to know what they added to the wine."   
"In that case Honey, rather than drink this doubtful wine, would you like to go for a walk with me? It has cooled off nicely and there are mimes performing over near the gates."  
"That sounds like fun Marten, let's do it! You guys are staying here, right?" Honey cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. Ooops they'd better.  
C

Not long afterwards Tod slipped into the tavern. Holding to the shadows he joined Horse and Bird on their bench.   
"Where's Honey?"

C

At the moment Honey and Marten were laughing at the antics of the mimes portraying star-crossed lovers, an evil uncle, and a buffoonish chaperone. The comedic figure was funny, but the mimes were so bad they were even funnier. During a romantic moment between the lovers, a dog wandered through and pissed on the mime's leg.  
Marten whispered -loudly- to Honey: "They need to keep the dog in the act!"  
Honey discovered she'd had altogether too much beer and Marten guided her in search of a public latrine. Fortuna smiled on them when they missed the next act which turned into a rather bloody finale.  
C

Tod had gone looking for Honey, following the thread of her scent, supposedly because he was worried, actually because he was feeling possessive. Huh! Winding his way through the the dark network of alleys where her skirts and favorite stole (he could tell, since it was usually kept folded with lavender) had brushed up against the walls, he heard a boy whimpering in a doorway: ”Please your lordship, please leave me alone, please it hurts, IT HURTS! Mmmgrph.”  
The monster within Tod was already alert, having been teased awake by the hunt for Honey. These pleas struck a discord in him, plucking at the tendons of his remembered terror. Only now he had the power, he was able to act and faster than sound he was pulling the officer off and out of the broken boy.  
His anger bellowed out as he tore bits and strips off the officer; he'd so forgotten himself in his blood rage that he didn't even think that he might have an audience until someone came after him with a knife.  
Luckily, or not, Tod's ire had not been quenched and he slashed through the crowd like a whirlwind. After a few beats had passed the alleyway was littered with body parts, sprayed with blood and the dragur started to come back to himself.  
“Oh, stupid, stupid, this will be sooooo bad. I'm out of here.”  
C  
Their date ended when screams started echoing opposite the gate. Marten tore off to see what was to be done and waded right in, damn I'm supposed to be off duty.   
There were only two cressets on the gateposts and it was hard to see beyond their flickering light. Honey peered warily at the crowd, not able to make out more than a heaving mass of tuniced backs and shoulders.   
She was taken aback by a flicker of movement well above the mass of people. “Tttoooodd!” she moaned, as the figure vanished in the direction of the Porta Decumana8, facing the hills.  
“Crap! I need to figure out what went wrong.” Honey muttered as she worked her way through the thicket of coarse fabric and sweaty bodies. The fear stink was strong here. Finally she got close enough to see Marten holding back the crowd and decided she should wait to talk to him until the boots she heard clattering on the pavers actually showed up.  
C

Tod had flown fast as an arrow until he'd gotten amongst the trees, collided with the cliffs and rebounded onto the forest floor. He berated himself as he lay there digging his fingers into the leaf mould and repairing the contusions from his encounter with the cliff. Gah! Stupid, stupid, stupid! When he'd risen he'd had the arrogance to believe that he could have peace and return to be of good service to his Lady. Instead he'd been seized again by chaos and thrown back into the black pit with that monster that inhabited him.  
So Stupid. Why can't I put those things behind me? They happened almost two centuries ago. The sight and rattle of shackles, if I feel anyone seize my arm, the sound and cry of a whipping, any one of these things set me off, blind, in a rage. Just thinking about it leaves a block of ice in the pit of my stomach.  
So sunk in his own misery, Tod didn't notice the sounds of snuffling in the woods.  
C  
Finally after being encouraged to get a move on, the crowd dispersed and Honey was able to get close to Marten – who after all was not on duty – and find out what happened. She really wanted to find out why Tod had gotten out of there like his tail was on fire.  
“So? What was all the noise about?”  
Marten, arms crossed, was leaning against the opposite wall of the alley; he looked twice as old as he had an hour ago. “It was ugly and weird at the same time, all these body parts in a circle – maybe three/four guys and in the middle of this mess was a dead kid still in one piece; like the center of a daisy. It isn't the worst I've ever seen, but it sure is the strangest.”  
Honey took his arm and said that she should be the one to buy him a cup of beer. He looked like he needed it!  
C

A loud grunt, the roiling stink of magic and boar roused Tod from his misery. Numbly, he wondered if the huge animal intended to eat him and whether he ought to care. Summer had stripped the undercoat from the beast and left a dull black hide with a mane of bristles and a tufted tail. He swung his head back and forth, the snout wrinkling and whuffling.  
Well, he wouldn't be his father's son if he met his end lying down from either magic or mortal means so he scrambled to his knees to properly meet his fate.  
Respectfully Tod greeted the pig: “Do you manifest Tincus9? I have not followed the path of the Good Lady and no longer deserve her blessing. I am ready to follow where ever you choose to lead me.”  
Even though Tod expected something strange he was still surprised when the looming monster sat on his haunches before him and swung his head to stare from one mad eye. “You now serve the third face of the Goddess, Death. You have fed me well this night, five souls at once!” Rasping his tusks together he worked his saliva into a froth. “Violence brought violence, our Lady was pleased.  
“You can worship all the aspects of the Lady by protecting the Clan. They are also her faithful servants.” Tincus grunted again as he surged to his feet and shook debris from his hide. “The sweet one must bear fruit, do not hinder her.”  
The boar quickly pivoted and trotted back into obscurity. Tod always thought that it was really weird how they moved. Their forequarters and neck were so thick with muscle that the body could hardly flex. In comparison the legs were almost dainty and scissored rapidly. It must be like being hit by a boulder studded with knives. Ooof.  
C  
Back at the tavern Honey had taken her cousins aside and explained the mess over by the Porta Decumana.   
“Should we try to find him?” Horse gnawed at the corner of his lower lip.  
“Can you feel him Honey? I think I can. How about you Horse? Should we try to call him? D'ya think that might work? We've all had his blood.”  
The three thought on the place where their bond seemed to be anchored and shifted about until they were all facing west. “There!” they said.   
“Call,” Honey demanded, “but put brother-love in it.”   
C  
Marten thought it was odd when Honey and her cousins put their heads together so earnestly; not his business though. Then Honey waved and said they would be right back as they slipped out the back door.  
They hadn't been gone long before they reappeared accompanied by a younger guy who looked real familiar; just couldn't place him though. Somebody he used to know? Now it would drive him nuts all night.  
Very quiet he was, pale, maybe not as young as he first thought. Horse and Bird bracketed the boy closely – had he been sick? – who introduced himself as Archer. He wiggled even closer to Horse's bulk and Marten caught a glimpse of the tattoos around his upper chest.  
Alllll-right, he was now officially weirded out. The last time he had seen tattoos like that had been on an ancient priest back home, really ancient.  
Maybe he'd had too much beer, because after that point things got pretty fuzzy, fun but fuzzy.  
He kind of remembered the boy glaring at him a bit when he and Honey excused themselves to 'take another walk'. But it was all good. Honey understood his position as a soldier, understood that she couldn't expect any more from him than a little summer romp.   
They'd see each other tomorrow in the market place and maybe get together again in the evening.  
She did fulfill her promise, her hair smelled like honey.  
%

 

In Roman city planning, a decumanus was an east-west-oriented road in a Roman city, castra (military camp), or colonia. The main decumanus was the Decumanus Maximus, which normally connected the Porta Praetoria (in a military camp, closest to the enemy) to the Porta Decumana (away from the enemy).  
This name comes from the fact that the via decumana or decimana (the tenth) separated the Tenth Cohort from the Ninth in the legionary encampment, in the same way as the via quintana separated the Fifth Cohort from the Sixth.

Caesar's attempt to open the Great St Bernard Pass for Roman traffic failed in 57 BC due to strong opposition by the local Veragri.[6] Concerted and successful efforts to gain control over the Alpine region were undertaken by his successor, Augustus, as the rapid development of Lugdunum (Lyon) made the establishment of a safe and direct route from Gaul to Italy a priority.[6]  
In 25 BC, an army under Aulus Terentius Varrus Murena wiped out the Salassi in the Aosta Valley.[6] At some time between 25 and 7 BC – either following the Aosta campaign or, more likely, in the course of the conquest of Raetia in 15 BC – a campaign also subjugated the Celtic tribes of the Valais and opened the Great St Bernard Pass.[7]  
That conquest was a consequence of the Augustan imperative of securing the Imperial borders. To effectively control the Alps as the shield of northern Italy, Rome needed to control both flanks of the mountain range. Thus it had to extend its power to the Rhine and Danube, thereby also opening a direct route to Germania and all of Central Europe.[7] The last obstacle in this path were the Raetians. After a first expedition against them by Publius Silius Nerva in 16 BC, a more thorough campaign by Drusus and the later emperor Tiberius brought Raetia – and thereby all of Switzerland – firmly under Roman control.[7]  
The tropaeum alpium, built by Augustus in 7 BC to celebrate his conquest of the Alps, lists among the defeated peoples the tribes of Raetia and of the Valais, but not the Helvetii. It appears that they were absorbed peacefully into the Empire during the first century AD, except for their part in the conflicts of the Year of the Four Emperors, AD 69.[8]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_citizenship


	16. Looking-Glass Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grave thanks to penpractice for keeping me coherent!

**Looking-glass Nights**

With their arms wrapped around each other, Honey and Marten wandered out into the fields looking for a good place to watch the waxing moon rise over the river. Robins chirruped their evensong and ring doves cooed as they settled in for the night. By the time the pair had found a spot nicely screened from the town, the new dusk had pooled in the swales of the field. Honey spread out her stole and tugged Marten down beside her to face the moon rise over the foothills on the other side of the river. Honey commented on the state of the crops and how near to cutting the hay was. Marten remarked on the various barges and patrol boats that had docked for the night and what cargoes they carried. Honey giggled at the bats swooping over the fields and open water.

;Every dip and loop means fewer mosquitoes, and I'm all for that.” Honey scratched absently at an itchy spot.

;It is one of the real drawbacks of being stationed near a river, that and the summer fevers. Last week my cousin, who enlisted with me, died of the summer fever – you know the one that turns your eyeballs yellow? Now his woman and her weans are looking to me for support. Puts me in a tough spot, my family has already arranged a marriage for me with the young daughter of some longstanding allies. I can't do both.”

;Well,” Honey snorted, “when I get back I'm going to have to formally accept my role as Healer and servant of the Goddess. No more escapades for me, I will have to be content with what I have.”

Are you to marry?”

Nope, not part of the package. I get respect, not a family.”

;You sad about that, Honey?”

Ya, a little. Lonely nights, you know. Even though I have the clan.”

The two leaned against one another more easily, knowing it was just for this moment, and played with each other's fingers while staring at the moon.

Playing soon led to tickling and tickling led to a nice roll in the almost-ready-to-cut hay. Unfortunately it also led to some very personal mosquito bites.

"Stupid bugs!" Honey grumped as they tidied themselves up with a cloth.

"Honey, I've got to get back to the barracks and finish mending my shield cover. I swear that stuff is never ending.” Marten slipped his arm around her in a half hug, letting go reluctantly.

“Tcha! Small things and small bugs will just nibble you to death. See you tomorrow?” She stroked his jaw and smiled wistfully.

“Mmmm, Ya.” Marten turned in the direction of the castra and Honey towards the tavern.

C

Slipping through the alleyway that gave on to the tavern Honey hoped to get back to their room without coming across Tod. She was getting the feeling that he was not happy with the situation. Jealous? – maybe not so much, more possessive or protective. She smiled to herself as she decided that he was acting like a suspicious sheep dog. She didn't have long to enjoy the image before Tod whummped down in front of her. Squawking like a chicken she fell back against the stuccoed tavern wall.

Tod was not happy but Honey was so embarrassed she clapped her hands to her face and screeched, “Don't DO that!”

“Where were you‽” Tod's expression was incredibly tight, and Honey noticed something about his eyes that was freaking her out. It wasn't quite a glow and they didn't really change color … reflective, were they actually reflecting the moonlight?

“Erm, didn't the guys tell you I was going to watch the, er, moonrise with Marten?”

“No! I looked for you as soon as I rose.” Tod drifted closer, his eyes brighter. “You are **mine**. It puts me on edge when I don't know where you are.”

 _Allll right Honey, you remember how to handle an edgy dragur._ Pressing her palms together, keeping her eyes downcast, she bowed slightly; _calm, serene, un-threatening, that was the key. Breathe._

_You can feel him, you've had his blood, gauge the tension. Breathe._

_Wait, be patient, breathe. Ahhh, ratcheting down now._

_Good_. Honey finally made her move, creeping closer, keeping her eyes down, no challenge, inviting possession.

Tod struck, marking Honey with his fangs, rumbling as he fed. Finally massaging her back, toning the rumble down to a purr as he tongued the wounds for longer than usual while he thought over what had just happened.

Stepping back Tod wondered aloud: “How did you do that? I might have killed you!” He had struck with vicious intent, though she remained stoically calm.

“For many generations our Lady conferred with our elders and teachers to work out the surest ways for us to be together. We have all been taught. If we may, we will teach you too.” Honey remained, passive, knowing Todd was still feeling unsettled. When he nodded a little she smiled. “Let us go in, I am more than ready for _my_ night-meal.”

Just like that the alley was empty again.

 

C

It was not the first time that Marten had regretted joining the army; yes, the pay was good, there was no chance of having to endure a famine, the retirement benefits couldn't be beat. Best of all his children would have the protection of Roman law and would be citizens. Nothing to sneeze at. But his gut yearned for Honey. _Sigh_. Not to be. Instead he was saddled with his cousin’s wife and her weans – good kids and kin, but not his. Still, he knew his duty and would do it.

Just this morning the legate had given one of those team spirit speeches, quoting Marcus Aurelius at them.

_Every moment think steadily as a Roman and a man, to do what thou hast in hand with simple dignity._

As he approached the room he had rented for his cousin's erstwhile family Marten wondered if anyone was there; no lamp was lit, no child chattered.

“Bucky, Andala, where are you?” He peered into the dark room. Sometimes their mother left them when she went to get bread, but not at night. He heard light breathing, smelled fish.

“Cousin!” Small figures tackled his knees, almost dropping him.

“Mama doesn't feel good, she has a headache,” came a worried voice.

“Fetch the lamp boy. We'll get it lit then we'll see what's to be done.”

Begging a light from the neighbor, Marten was then able to look around the small room as the feeble glow pushed the shadows to the corners. There was naught to be see but a hearth, a pallet and finally a woman slumped against the far wall.

Marten set the light in a wall niche and stooped over his cousin's leman. She was going the way his cousin had – already her skin carried the taint of jaundice. His first thought was of Honey, maybe she knew of something that would help. _Oh, Gods, what would he do with the children?_

Putting aside all the chores he had waiting for him when he got back to the barracks, he shepherded the children back towards the tavern. As they trotted after him, wide eyed and struggling to keep up, it suddenly struck him how very small they still were. “I'll carry you Andala, I know someone who might be able to help.”.

He was by no means helpless, he could deal with a knife slice or a crushed foot just fine but women knew about these things. This sure _looked_ like summer fever but what if it were something else? What if it were _woman’s_ problems? Uuuughh, way out of his depth. He urged little Bucky to move faster.

Some of his buddies were drinking in the same tavern where Honey was staying; seeing him with children set them off. “What are you a nutrix now? D'ya need to supplement your salary with babysitting?”

Andala tightened her hold on his tunic and buried her face in his shoulder. He had to shift her upwards slightly to keep a good hold of her legs drawing more chuckles and mug banging. _Oh, fuck it_ – “Has any one seen the three that I was talking to yesterday? Maybe hanging out with a sickly looking kid?”

When the oafs had done laughing one pointed towards the stairs, “Went that way.”

Switching Andala to his back - she was not even a quarter the weight he was used to carrying, Marten helped Bucky up the stairs (certainly not something the boy was used to, not where he lived). Fortunately it was easy to figure out which room was theirs, Marten rapped on the only closed door, the one with soft voices behind it.

When Bird opened the door all of them, including the boy, were seated close together on the culcitae (sleeping cushions). The one lamp created a chiaroscuro portrait of the four faces. Bucky shyly ducked behind his cousin's legs and the man could feel the warmth of the girl pressed against his back as his eyes teased out the herbalist in the flickering light.

“Er, I'm hoping you might be able to help,” he stumbled. “My cousin's leman, the mother of these children, is sick. They are kin, I don't want to leave them. D'you think you could have a look and tell me what might be the best thing for her?”

At first Honey seemed oddly lost in thought, she didn't even look his way, instead she faced the pallid boy and reached out to gently touch his face, then softly asked if he would be all right.

 _That kid has the weirdest eyes along with some seriously spooky tattoos_ he mused _._ The auxiliary felt his nerves prickle at the hard look the boy sent his way, but apparently he assented 'cause she scrambled to her feet and grabbed a large satchel that Marten knew held her store of herbs, then they were on their way. At the last moment the big guy, Horse, said he'd come along since he didn't want her walking back by herself.

C

The only two remaining occupants of the room were quiet for a moment as they watched the door close behind the others. “That was odd,” commented Bird. “That little girl wouldn't stop looking at you. Then she had to wave 'bye-bye'.”

Tod shook his head, still staring at the door. “Yes, odd. Perhaps we will learn more later.” He turned his now silvery eyes on Bird, slipped his arm around him and looked pleased, “But now we have some time to enjoy ourselves,” he said kissing a cheek.

C

Little Bucky leaned against Horse as he sat in the corner cradling a sleepy Andala. Horse thought it might actually be better for the children to watch. At least they would know they had done all they could to help her and that their mother didn't die alone.

No herb could help the woman sprawled on the floor. Honey thought water might ease her parched lips but as she turned to ask Marten for some the fevered woman began seizing and choking, her bloodshot eyes rolling back in her head.

Andala wiggled and looked up at Horse. “Mama was aw betta, she was sick, now she sick again?”

“Yes, baby, she's sick again, very sick.”

“I not baby, I Andy, I big girl. Is she gonna die? Tully's Mama died last week, then she smelled bad. There were lottsa flies.”

Bucky, his face pale, was frozen in place. “Where will we go Sir? Who will take care of Andy?”

Horse could see that the boy was well aware of the fate of abandoned children; starvation or slavery were likely and Andy was too young to make a useful slave, although sometimes a Madam might take a girl-child as a future investment. As their mother died so would he and his sister follow. Maybe their cousin Marten would pay to have a woman take care of them; but what would happen when he got transferred? Some of the troops were being sent to Pannonia which was all the way to hell and gone. What would happen then?

Marten came and crouched next to him, the children shifted around a bit but returned to their fixed focus on their mother.

Looking at Honey Marten muttered: ”What am I to do now?” He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “My cousin and I sacrificed to Juno Lucina when these kids were safely born. They are the only bit left of my friend, my cousin. It would disrespect his memory if I didn't see to their care."

Honey kept glancing from Marten to the stunned looking children and back again.

C

Soft conversation beyond the door broke the hush the dying woman had laid upon the living watchers.

“They're in here, find out why they've been gone so long and why this place smells of death,” came softly, muffled by the barrier.

A light scratching at the door accompanied Bird's query “Horse, are you in there? Are you all right?”

Marten's attention was locked onto the woman who was now unresponsive, Horse was holding the children, so Honey opened the door and explained the crisis.

“Marten? Is it all right if my friends come in?” Honey neatly sidestepped the invitation thing.

“Ya, ya, whatever.” Marten's glance flickered in their direction and raked his fingers through his hair again leaving it looking even more like a shadowy battlefield.

C

Tod quietly moved to stand near Horse. “Soon now,” he exhaled. His eyes shimmered, his interest captured by the children. The room might have been dark save for the small double flames dancing in the air currents, but his vision let him pick out the details as if the space had been flooded with moonlight. The children were extraordinary, there was a little _something_ … something about them that drew Tod in … something in their dove colored eyes and thick dark hair.

Bucky's jaw was squarely set, the girl's face was softer but already showed hints of her brother's determination. Both their mouths were formed with the same mobile ornate bow. Oh, myyy, that girl child would be a heart-breaker. They both would.

C

Reading the mood of his fellow travelers Bird softly asked: “Were you asked to foster these children by their father?“1

“No, I can't remember. Wait, I think he said something, about making sure they were taken care of.”

“Will you be able to take them with you when you are transferred?” Bird, as was his habit and training laid out the facts as if they were runes.

“No, I don't see how I could. I can't marry, my family is expecting me to wed my betrothed when I retire. I have too many responsibilities to my men to have time to cater to a leman. Besides, who knows how she would treat them.”

Looking first at Horse, who nodded brusquely, then at Honey who took the time to retie her headscarf and recapture all the errant strands of hair, before pressing her lips together and dipping her head in assent. The three turned their eyes on Tod who was confused by their tacit consensus.

Bird, understanding how acute a vampire's hearing was, turned in the Gamli's direction and breathed, “adoption.”

Forgetting himself, Tod's eyebrows darted upwards in surprise before he looked speculatively at the children. When he crouched down next to Bucky the boy straightened his back and looked directly at him.

“Sir?”

Andala sensed something was going on and sleepily slipped from Horse's lap, tugging at her too short tunic, to stand next to her brother.

Tod found himself looking at his own reflections, albeit much younger. The same tumble of sun streaked dark hair, the same strongly marked eyebrows, gray eyes and mobile mouth. He returned Honey and Bird's gazes. ”Yes.” He reached out and smoothed the smoke of the girl child's hair. “Yes.”

Marten, dazed by his worry, had heard none of this; the companions' quiet conversation was drowned out by the woman's stertorous breathing. Everyone in the room had heard that sound before and knew what it meant.

Tod walked over to Marten and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You are paterfamilias for these children?"

The unusual chill of Tod's hand penetrated into Marten's daze, as soon as he looked up his will was captured by those gray eyes, so much like his own.

"We will adopt these children, they will be safe with us and well cared for. We will wait until all this is done."

Tod turned on his heel and moved over to the side of the room where he could squat next to Horse and brace his back against the whitewashed wall. Andy was yawning prettily again. Buck looked frightened.

Honey shifted over to sit in front of Tod and held out her arms. "Come lovey, come have a rest."

Bird moved to sit on the other side of Horse so that they were clustered together in a compact nest offering refuge to the boy. Holding his hand out he introduced himself: "Bird at your service, good sir. Actually my name is Aðalráðr the advisor, but I am also a bard. I will teach you the old stories of our people. You are now one of us, we are Aeturnae so you will be Aeternos Helicon."

"Can I still be Bucky too? Papa called me Bucky."

"Well if people call me Bird, I don't know why they can't call you Bucky."

Leaning forward a bit, "I am called Horse but my full name is Eldjárn Aeternos. Eldjárn is another way of saying blacksmith, it is fire and iron all together. Bucky is your child-name you will earn your man-name when you are older.” He swept his hand around the group, "We all were nurselings together and so our child names come most easily to us."

The boy twisted around to look at his sister sleeping in Honey's lap. "Will Andy get a new name too?" His voice was tight with worry, fearing she wouldn't be included.

"Oh yes, she will be Andala Aeterna, and I'm sure we'll all call her Andy. I am called Honey, and my name is Disa Aeterna. Disa means both guardian spirit and priestess. We are very happy to share our name with you."

Tod leaned forward and whispered into her ear, stealing a nibble, "Disa, it is a fitting name for you."

C

Since he had been left to die by Corbulo's thugs, so many goals had crystallized for Tod. At the forefront was Freedom to choose the manner of his existence. After two centuries of slavery and abuse he had little feel for choice. In his belly he always expected someone else to reach out and rip away his power to choose.

The moon had been just past full on that dark and now it was waxing, near full. Almost twenty five darks had passed since the three had found him and this was swelling into the dog moon, when Canis lay on the horizon just before sunrise. Although, since humans were hurrying to get the first wheat in, it was also the moon of first harvest. The bread respectfully made from that grain was one of his favorites when he was Bucky's age....

He leaned forward again to ask Honey if she could get a loaf made from the new wheat for the children. Affectionately he lipped and nuzzled her neck, while Buck and Horse looked to be in a trance and Bird sagged against Horse's shoulder, his eyes closing.

What was this collection of humans? They felt almost like the family he'd been surrounded by when he was small. Everyone leaning together, murmuring as they fell asleep in the evenings. Even the smallest tucked next to someone.

Comfort – which hadn't been within reach for lifetimes while he was being dragged from pillar to post by his maker and tormented by her sycophant Corbulo.

Were they pets? 'Tura had tried to keep pets once but she found having to feed them through the winter annoying. Their bodies were left somewhere on the west bank of the Danube when they pushed on. Tod remembered they'd both had blond hair and were rather large. 'Tura thought there'd be more to share out but her disenchantment had begun when she realized it also took more to feed them.

This seemed to be something new, something he'd never heard of, but he was young yet.

Ach, here he was woolgathering again. It seemed to happen more and more often. He didn't have to hide, he didn't have to hunt, he could just enjoy the contact with fellow beings.

Even a deathwatch was a thing he remembered from when he was human, it would be finished when the breathing stopped. They would complete this ritual together.

C

The waiting and the breathing stopped several hours before dawn. They woke to a silent room, or perhaps it was the barking of a fox that alerted them.

Rubbing his eyebrows askew, Marten muttered, “Oh Shit,” before rising to his feet and batting the dust from his tunic.

Hauling himself upward Bird quietly asked if he had a place for burial. They would help him dig. Marten had decided to put her next to his cousin; she had borne him two children and by that had earned a proper grave.

Bucky didn't want to really look at his mother, as long as he didn't really _look_ he didn't have to think about it. He could just float in this in-between place.

C

Given the hour and the neighborhood Marten didn't think they would be able to borrow tools from anyone nearby, so he hustled to the gate of the castra to see if he could beg the use of a dolabra2 from one of the guards, if not he would have to run back to the barracks to get his.Everyone else shifted and shuffled their feet until Honey took the reins and asked Bucky if there were any water. He came out of his daze enough to offer to get some, while Horse and Bird, relieved to be away from what was now women's business, said they'd go with him.

“Your mother would be proud to know that you paid your respects by helping prepare her body for burial. Birth and death, the fabric of life are women's work, and you are old enough to help.”

Andy's eyes widened, she'd never thought much beyond playing and clinging to her mother's stola and here she was thrust into the grownup world of women. “Bu' I little.”

“Even the littlest have a part to play. Please find a bowl, a washing cloth and some rags if you can; if you can't we will use straw,” Honey directed. Hard as it was, she knew being part of this would help the girl have a sense of her place in the world.

“It would be better wait until the men have gone to dig the grave before we do this – why don't we pick some flowers for mother to take with her into the next world ... ” mumble mutter. “Now where did I see a yew or cypress growing, we'll also need a branch for the house, I hope we don't have to buy one.”3

Waiting for Marten to return with a couple of dolabra, the men had been milling around in the close before they came to rest leaning against the wall, bracketing Bucky. Tod had faded into the shadows near the alley but moved into the moonlight as Honey and little Andy left on their hunt.

“Tod?” Honey raised one eyebrow to signal her curiosity. “Would you like to come with us to find the grave offerings?”

His eyebrows drew together questioning her intent.

“You are a priest, you should help.”

 _I am still a priest?_ He thought back to what the great boar Tincus had said to him last night. Resolutely Tod stated, “Yes, I am a priest, I can help you.”

Andy had gotten sleepy again, bored by the grownup's quiet talk. Honey hefted her up onto one hip and followed Tod.

There was a trio of cypress trees in the next courtyard they came upon, Tod slowly floated upward until he could nip out a few shoots that no one would miss.

Tod carefully landed near Honey just as Marten led the men, carrying the dolabra and Bucky hefting buckets, towards the grave yard. Honey watched wistfully as Tod fell in step with the boy and relieved him of one of the buckets. They were so alike in features and movement, they could almost be father and son.

Marten led them to where he'd buried his cousin only a week ago. The workshop where they carved the markers was overwhelmed with the death count and the stele wouldn't be ready for a while. He'd have them add a line about the woman.

The men set to digging, taking turns. Tod helped young Bucky remove dirt with the buckets, kindly letting it look like he was keeping up with the men. Of course Martin made swift progress with the dolabra, he'd used it almost every day since he joined the army. With four, make that five, working they were soon done.

As they were finishing up Tod asked Marten where the woman was from, he wanted some kind of name for her.

“She was Tigurini4 from near the lake. I think she followed my cousin here, they were fond of each other – of course there couldn't be anything official as long as he was an auxiliary.”

They shouldered the tools and started walking back to the room.

“I was trying to get the remainder of his pay for her and the children, I think he had some saved up too. I think I can talk the quartermaster out of it tomorrow so you can buy shoes for them. It would be good if they had shoes to travel. I got Buck a new tunic for his father's funeral but the baby needs clothes too.” S _igh._

 

Honey had let Andala wash her mother's face and comb out her hair while she tended to the more unpleasant bits. There hadn't been enough rags to absorb the slop over so she had emptied one of the straw filled pallets and shifted the thin body onto that. When that was done, Andy helped her lay out her mother's stola as a winding sheet just as the men returned.

Honey signaled Tod with her eyes to help her move the body. Marten seemed perturbed and started forward but Horse caught his arm and advised, “Let the priest help, it is better.”

Quickly the body was placed on the stola, her arms laid crossing her breasts. Honey asked Marten for a coin for the boatman which she slipped between the woman's lips before wrapping her headscarf securely to keep her jaw closed. Andy and Bucky stood wide eyed, Andy only interrupting once to place a few sprigs of sweet herbs in her Mama's hands.

Horse and Bird decided the best way to move the body was to use the empty mattress ticking as a sling – it wasn't very far, just past the edge of the canabae. They moved as quickly as they could since they'd already heard first cockcrow and it wouldn't do for Tod to disappear mid service.

The somber group, children and adults, were stumbling with fatigue by the time the shrouded body lay in the grave. Marten was guided to stand at the head of the trench, Tod and Bucky took the right hand, Honey and Andy the left. The men tugged their cloaks to respectfully cover their heads. Honey poured salt into Tod's palm which he solemnly shared with the boy-child while she took a handful of soil which she in turn shared with the girl-child.

As another cock finished crowing and a few birds started to chirp, Honey began, ”I Disa Aeturna, priestess of the generative Goddess, pour out this earth to symbolize the clay of your body returning to the mother.” She cast down the mould in her hand, then guided Aeturna Andala to do the same. Tod spoke: “I Death Aeturnus, priest of the third face of the Goddess, sprinkle this salt to symbolize your immutable soul's journey to its rest in the underworld.” He bent to help Aeturnus Helicon release the salt. The children stared at their hands numbly.

Death and the priestess joined hands across the grave and said, almost as though they'd rehearsed it: “Tigurina, go with our blessing, cross over the rivers safely and meet your joy there.”

 

http://www.archshannon.com/webseite/exhibitions/18-archaeological_park_Xanten/index.html#23

1it was common for a dying man to leave guardianship of his children to another man, thus granting him the power of a _paterfamilias_ over what were now effectively his foster children.

2For the purpose, however, of excavating or breaking up the earth (Pallad. 2.1 and 3, 3.21), a [dolabra](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/morph?l=dolabra&la=la&can=dolabra0&prior=b) with a straighter pick appears to have been used, as is shown in Fig. [a](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/morph?l=a&la=la&can=a0&prior=dolabra), from a relief on a tomb. Of a similar form is Fig. _c,_ which represents the dolabra used by masons (Isid.  Orig. 19.19, 11). The hatchet used at sacrifices ( “scena ab aliis, a quibusdam sacena appellatur dolabra pontificalis,” Festus, p. 318, M.) and by butchers ( _Dig. 33_ , _7_ , _18_ ) was also called a [dolabra](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/morph?l=dolabra&la=la&can=dolabra1&prior=a), and is figured here.

3Nine days after the disposal of the body, by burial or cremation, a [feast](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banquet) was given ( _cena novendialis_ ) and a libation poured over the grave.... During this nine day period, the house was considered to be tainted, _funesta_ , and was hung with Taxus baccata or Mediterranean Cypress branches to warn passersby. At the end of the period, the house was swept out to symbolically purge it of the taint of death. Wikipedia: Funeral.

4http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tigurini


	17. Fortunus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was past day-meal by the time they rose. Bucky seemed to lapse into bemused silence whenever young Andy stopped chattering at him like a finch; even while chirping she never let go of her fistful of Honey's tunic.  
> They trooped down to the latrine together squinting at the midday sun. Horse, Bird and Buck lined up staring at the wall in front of them as they pissed noisily while Honey held Andy's hands so she could balance her little butt on the rim of the seat.  
> There was a rough bath a few steps from the latrine – no frescoed walls or mosaic floors for this tavern. Honey lit the lamp that had been left in its niche and set the stack of clean second-best tunics on one of the benches.  
> Thankfully the boy was old enough to clean himself with a soapy sea sponge - although Bird and Horse did keep a half an eye on him while they scrubbed each other's backs and took turns rinsing with buckets of fresh water that was a little cooler than anyone would have liked.  
> “C'mon guy, the water in the bath is still warm – you are all over goose bumps.”

Fortunus  
It was past day-meal by the time they rose. Bucky seemed to lapse into bemused silence whenever young Andy stopped chattering at him like a finch; even while chirping she never let go of her fistful of Honey's tunic.  
They trooped down to the latrine together squinting at the midday sun. Horse, Bird and Buck lined up staring at the wall in front of them as they pissed noisily while Honey held Andy's hands so she could balance her little butt on the rim of the seat.  
There was a rough bath a few steps from the latrine – no frescoed walls or mosaic floors for this tavern. Honey lit the lamp that had been left in its niche and set the stack of clean second-best tunics on one of the benches.  
Thankfully the boy was old enough to clean himself with a soapy sea sponge - although Bird and Horse did keep a half an eye on him while they scrubbed each other's backs and took turns rinsing with buckets of fresh water that was a little cooler than anyone would have liked.  
“C'mon guy, the water in the bath is still warm – you are all over goose bumps.”  
....................................  
The girls were still coping with their hair; Honey had gently washed Andala's but had to keep a firm grip on her arm when she tried to dance away from the chilly rinse water.   
“Col', col', col', Bucky! I col',” the girl called to her brother.  
“Here, all done, let's pop you in the bath and you can warm up,”   
Andy skittered over to the edge of the bath, teeth chattering, and Horse rose from the water, steam coiling from his broad shoulders to lift her over. He placed her between her brother and Bird so they could steady her if she slipped.  
Honey finished rinsing her hair and rested on the edge before sliding into the bath as well sitting next to the boy.  
Knowing there were no ears nearby to hear what they shouldn't, Bird spoke first, telling the children that they all would be leaving at dusk. They would have a chance to say goodbye to their cousin Marten and would have gotten their new shoes before they left.  
Horse picked up the narrative, telling Buck about the men and boys where they were going, what they all did and farmed and built, reminding him that once he learned his way around he could choose who he wanted to 'prentice himself to.  
Andala was still focused on splashing and playing nibble fish, seeing if she could startle Honey or Bird with little pinches. She knew better than to pinch her brother – he'd pinch right back.  
Then it was Honey's turn to describe their valley. “We run almost crosswise to the sun's path.” She swept an arc with her arm, flattening her palm and smoothing a transverse plane. “So one side of the hills faces pretty much towards the setting of the winter sun and is very good for the growing of grapes, the other is well forested above the pastures. Our brother/cousin Horse sometimes sees to the health of the animals when he isn't at the forge.”  
Buck's ears perked up and he turned a speculative gaze in the smith's direction before he looked back up at Honey. “But what do you do, Mistress? What do you see to?”  
“I see to the matters that the Lady Goddess touches, growing things, babies and the cycle of life. Or at least I will when we return.” She looked down at the swirling water. “If I am considered worthy.”  
“You've earned your chops, Honey, no one can say you haven't,” interjected Bird. “As have I. I've gotten our whole history by heart, plus all the sagas.” he turned to the children. “Aeturni all have to learn the parts of our saga. We recount our history at each season, at Yule the children recite it for Gamli right before the great feast.”  
“Who's Gamli?”  
“Our elder and defender.”  
“I don' unnerstan', like a Gaffer or like a guard dog?”  
“Not quite, Buck. You know the little God figures your Mama had over on the shelf? Like that, but not just watching us or holding our fortune, very strong, very present.”  
“All right Master Query, time to get dressed,” with which Bird lifted him dripping out of the water and he rushed to the heap of cloth, his butt twinkling in stark contrast with his tanned back.   
Honey held the girl's hand as they pushed through the water and up the steps to where she could lift her feather weight up and over the edge.  
Andy danced and side skipped over to her brother, energized by the water; she wiggled like a fish while Honey tried to get her dry and Bucky found her tunic. This was way too short and left quite a bit uncovered.   
With a sigh, Honey asked, “Is her underwear in the pile? Where's your panties love?”  
Andy hopped from foot to foot singing, ”I don' know, I don' know, they too sma'.”  
Bucky shrugged, “Mama was makin' her new ones.”  
.................................................  
Honey had tossed yesterday's linen into the wash bucket she'd put to one side. “Guys, would you comb out their hair while I deal with the clothes? There is some almond oil in a flask underneath the tunics, if you put a little of it on the comb it's easier to tackle the knots.”  
She grumbled to herself as she knelt down before the wash tub and started punishing the cloth between her knuckles. “Foo, I'm never going to get dressed at this rate! Not only my clothes, oh, no, but the kid's clothes and their nasty tunics too. They are going to owe me big time! You hear that slackers? You owe me!”   
Finally she was satisfied that enough of the stains had been vanquished, at least what she could see in this poor light, for her to wring the cloth out and fling the contents of the bucket into the sluice, rinse and repeat. “Sunlight will do wonders for the linen, I hope it will be enough to make it presentable.”  
Honey's litany of complaints was the alto line to Andy's squeals and tears as the tangles were removed from her hair. Bird had tried but finally could no longer stand the high pitched wails and turned her over to Horse – who probably should have been first choice to tackle the mop.  
Buck watched with interest, only commenting that Andy had always been a terror about getting her hair combed and it wasn't their fault.  
Finally, dressed and (mostly) combed, Honey laid the clothes out atop a sun baked wall and they all went in to eat.  
Fortunately the tavern keeper still had lentil stew, bread and cheese on offer, and was willing to serve them mid-siesta. They were just finishing up when Marten made his appearance. “I got leave to wrap up my cousin's affairs today and cashed out his last pay chit. There will be enough for clothing and shoes for the kids and either a donkey or a dowry for Anadala and a 'prentice fee for Buck.”  
............................  
Little Buck made paths and walls out of breadcrumbs on the tavern table while the grownups talked and his sister rubbed bits of cheese on her teeth to make them squeak. If anything the boy looked even sadder after his cousin's announcement. He was being booted willy-nilly into the next stage of his life. But still, any road would be strange, and at least these people seemed kind. He knew it could have been much worse, he had already seen much worse. One of his friend's father had needed money and sold the boy as a slave. He had been black and blue the next time they'd seen each other.   
................................  
When everyone started to sort them selves out, noisily moving stools and benches, brushing bits of bread and stray lentils from their clothes, Buck sighed and got on with life.  
After Honey had collected the mostly dry clothes she helped Andy with her panties. The child started wiggling at the feel of the slightly damp material, “Ick, wet.”  
“Well, little lovey, it is better than getting dirt in your sit-me-down. Honor the Goddess. Stay clean, stay healthy and take care of the body you have.”  
They walked by way of the alley where the children had lived to check if they had forgotten anything. Honey also wanted to take a moment to hang out the somber yew branch warning people away from a place that death had visited.  
The little gods were still in their place on the shelf, Andala wanted to take them with her for her new home. They were wrapped up in her mother's faded blue headscarf and tucked away for the journey.  
After pointing Honey in the direction of a second hand clothes store, the men decided they wanted a barber and said they'd take the boy with them. She stood, arms akimbo, and huffed at their retreating backs. “Guys! Why do we get stuck with all the boring details?”  
Andy copied Honey, gesture for gesture, huff for huff, “Guys!”  
..................................  
“Boo, izzer boo?”  
Remembering Andala stroking the cloth wound around the clay gods, Honey figured she meant blue. “We'll see, lovey. For sure they have pink.” Everybody had pink, any time a legionary's red tunic got mixed in with the regular wash the rose madder dye bled and everyone wore pink. Even the soldiers who supposedly wore white. It paid to use a good laundry, but accidents happened and then there were some pretty good deals all in pink at the rag man’s. “Let's just see what they have close to your size.”  
The merchant had been finishing his nap on a pile of fabric in the back of his shop when Andy ran up to riffle admiringly though the stacks of clothes. Honey followed more slowly arriving at the counter as the shopkeeper emerged scrubbing at his grizzled face with his hands.  
“I need four children's tunics, please, two in her size, two larger. Plus some underwear.” Then they were off, examining seams, checking for rips and worn spots in the predominantly pink items. Honey was able to gauge Buck's size and picked out several she could hold up to his shoulders when he was done at the barber. Andy quickly grew bored and started poking in corners looking for bright bits of color; after much digging she emerged triumphant from a basket of belts. “Boo, iz boo!”  
Sure enough there were bits of blue woven into the narrow sash that Andy was rubbing against her face, crooning “p'tty!”  
A desultory haggle began between Honey and the scruffy merchant, they would get into the true spirit of the thing after she'd made her selection. At the moment she was tch-ing at the quality of everything she came across. If the fabric was worn he praised its softness, if it was harsh he extolled the longevity, if the seams were ripped, well that was her good fortune, because he was such a generous man he would reduce the price for her.   
Holding them at arm's length Honey complained that the garments were stained and crawling with vermin and she would have to go to great lengths to get them clean, besides it looked as though the dye was a cheap lot and came off on her fingers.   
Marten had wandered over to watch the bargaining volley back and forth between Honey and the merchant; smiling as one or the other scored points. Reaching around to where Andy crouched looping and rearranging the bright strips of fabric he was able to fish out a sash in a handsome pattern for Buck and untangle Andy from her gaily woven choice.  
Looking sternly at the owner Marten pressed “How much?”  
Standing firm while seeming to shrink back contorted the seller into a curious posture leaving both Honey and Andy looking rather amazed. Marten drew his brows together even further.  
“What she said, Centurion,” his eyes darting away from the auxiliary and managing to shrink even further into himself.  
Looking positively stormy Marten crossed his arms, displaying his biceps to good advantage and firmly stated: “I am not a Centurion, never have been, and Gods willing, never will be. Flattery will not shift me.”  
“What she said.” Resigned to having to accept the woman's offer  
Marten smartly snapped down the coins. Gripping the rag-man's shoulder, “Good man! You have anything I might want, put it aside. I'm sure I'll see you later.”  
The freshly shorn and shaved men showed pale areas along their hairlines and jaws, they would darken within the day but for now they looked odd. Buck stood tall, proud to have been included in the masculine ritual.  
The group swirled and reformed moving in the direction of the rather stinky leather worker's alley. Something acrid and something of the tannery clung to the walls. Fortunately, since the best shop was able to afford the choicest location the shop they wanted was the one closest to the square. The cobbler had several sizes already made up and Marten inspected the inside seams carefully to be sure they wouldn't rub.  
Andy lucked into a pair of red sandals that had never been picked up (no one really wanted to know why) and Buck a dark pair sturdy enough to almost be called boots. They were warned that they would need breaking in and to only wear them a bit at a time.  
The children raised a clamor as soon as they saw the baker's boy making the rounds with a tray of sweets. He'd been very clever and had hung little bells on the rim of the tray, which chimed sweetly, drawing the customers in. Marten treated them all and they paused to sit on the lip of a fountain where they could rinse their fingers after licking off as much honey as possible.  
Recognizing Bird from yesterday, the late afternoon shoppers gathered to ask for a tune and he obliged, tootling away until all were clapping along and coins chinked into his cup.   
The two other men stood apart and discussed the best course for the children's future; where Marten would be able to find them, how a message was best sent, how often they visited the nearest Roman settlement …   
It was provisionally concluded that a pony might be a good investment for the kids. They could ride if they got tired and it could either be sold or kept to increase as part of their inheritance. They let Honey know that they were going to investigate what the hostlers had in their paddocks.  
Well, small town, one hostler seemed to be the rule. Horse thought he might want to amend that to small town, one hostler and slim pickings. There were three horses for sale, two elderly and one snappish gelding; none of which would serve to increase anyone's wealth.   
The air was suddenly filled with blue curses and a clatter of wooden planks and buckets as a young jack came tearing out of the stable with a feed sack between his teeth.  
“Witch's minion! Wait till I get my hands on you! No more high-jinks, it's passed time for you to get some sense beaten into you!”  
The hostler halted abruptly when he saw the men in the paddock – he recognized the soldier but hadn't seen the other before.  
“Hai, what can I do for you gentlemen? A packhorse for your troop Primus?”  
At least he had the wit not to call me Centurion. “No, my friend here is looking for something.”  
Practically wiggling at the possibility of a sale, the hostler started praising the fortitude and surefootedness of these mounts and the heart and strength of the youngest of the animals.   
Horse's rejoinder was that could see for himself the bravery of the two older geldings – since they were still standing though obviously at death's door. The younger horse seemed to be demented, possibly because he had worms in his brain; he did not expect him to be at all useful.  
All the while he had kept his eye on the mischievous jackass who at that moment was quietly stepping up behind his owner. In a lightning move he seized the back of the man's tunic in his teeth and took off in the opposite direction with half the tunic wildly flapping around his muzzle. The hoofed thief seemed to enjoy this enormously, especially when the horses shied away from the odd apparition.   
His owner, hot on his tail, afforded them all the unlovely view of his remarkably hairy arse. Marten and Horse grabbed each other to stay upright while wheezing with laughter.  
Gasping, Horse said: “How much do you want for the clown?”  
“You pay me a little extra and I can geld him now. He's too rammy to be useful.”  
“Absolutely not, we are leaving this afternoon and he won't be fit to work. I'll take care of it when we get where we are going.”  
..........................  
“That miserable old man charged us extra for the lead rope, he should have been the one forking over the money for us to take this trouble maker off his hands. What do you want with him anyway?” Marten asked as they headed back to find the others.  
“Ya know,” Horse explained, ”this is a smart animal, smart is good. He was bored stuck in there with the old horse meat. We Aeturni have hill ponies that work with us but mules would be better in the vineyards. A good mule is a wonderful thing, not as fast as a pony, but steady and smart. This one is a good size to put to the mares and we can put the stud fee aside for the kids.”  
Fortunately the jack was more interested in the sights than in pulling any more pranks and they got back to the square in good time and good humor.  
Honey had bundled up the clothes in the largest tunic and waited for them at the fountain. The children sat cross-legged amongst the swaying group enthralled by Bird's music.  
Horse and Marten stood waiting until Bird finished his set. The donkey was curious enough to push between them, flicking his ears appreciatively.   
Andy squealed at the sight of those long ears and flew in their direction. Horse watched to see the jack's reaction, but apparently it was equally intrigued by the churning legs and flailing arms that windmilled towards him, although he had bunched up a bit, ready to wheel and run.  
Marten caught Andala before she crashed into the beast, “Whoa, girlie, don't damage the donkey. You've got a powerful tackle there.”  
Looking suspiciously at their new steed Honey wanted to know if it was saddle broke.  
“He'll be fine, I was leaning on his back the whole way here and he didn't even twitch.”  
By this time Bird had disentangled himself from his fans and poured the contents of his cup into Honey's hand. Waving his arm magnanimously he suggested, “Get some more supplies for our trip.”  
Honey looked at him astonished, “Get them yourself, you know as well as I do what we need – unless of course you'd rather do the laundry. I'll trade.” She extended the bundle to him.  
“No, no, no, I'll get the supplies. The water will ruin my nails, I won't be able to play.”  
“Well, see if you can get some carrots or early turnips for the soup. Nice to have some flavor to it.”  
......................  
They headed back to the tavern in the fading day to wash the new-to-them clothes, see if they could get the children to have a little lie down, and pack up. There was maybe an hour or so until dusk. Honey hustled, she wanted to get the stuff washed and laid out long enough to dry.  
No-name the donkey was tethered behind the tavern while Horse worked on fashioning some sort of harness for him. Straps for a girth and chest piece – that he had, rings.....rings, what could he use for rings. All the ones he had were half the size he needed. Rope harness then.  
So far the beast'd been merely curious about anything Horse was doing, snuffling and whuffling over his clothes and lipping at his boot laces. Someone clever had already gentled him and Horse wondered how he'd ended up in the rough hands of the hostler. He scratched around the attentive ears and whispered his thanks for their good luck. “Fortunus, a good name for you.”  
.........................  
The children were ushered up the stairs to rest on the cushions while Bird packed and sorted. Honey had stopped to dump the clothes in the tub before she trotted upstairs for some soap.  
It was almost the last bit in the jar, “I'm not going to pay for someone else's soap, not when I can make my own just the way I like it. We'll have just enough to get us home.” Muttering to herself, as usual, about other's lack of thrift, Honey trotted downstairs to stomp out her annoyance in the wash tub.  
So Tod found her, skirts kilted up around her hips, flashing thighs treading out the grime, keeping time by humming one the tunes Bird had played that afternoon. He leaned against the door jamb to watch her step out of the tub and heave it up on its side, her defined shoulders straining, her damp muscular buttocks bunching with the weight.   
“Woof, what a woman. When she wraps her thighs around you, you could ride all night.”  
“Eeep! You startled me again!” Honey sketched a small bow. “Did you see the donkey that Horse got?” she asked over her shoulder as she turned back to the laundry. “Just let me get this wrung out.”   
The damp tunic clung to Honey's breasts as she twisted each piece out over the drain and put it aside, Tod stayed, watching. “Show it to me when you are done.”  
Shivering a little with the evening air Honey strode out to the still warm wall hoping it would dry the clothes enough for them to be packable. Tod admired what the chill did to Honey's breasts too but had sense enough to wait until she'd done laying out the clothes before suggesting that she air out her tunic a bit to get the damp out.  
“Can you help me? It is all twisted and stuck to my skin.” Honey knew very well the game they played as they slipped back into the bath house to make use of one of the benches.   
Her fingers dug deeply into the muscles of his back as she held him between her thighs, steady as the earth when he plowed forward, supping at her neck while they rocked against each other afterwards then healing the wound with a drop of his blood. Wishing she could cradle him this way through the night, wishing she had longer to stroke his cool back and flanks.  
.............................  
Horse was resting with the children while Bird foraged for supplies. Most of the vendors had packed up but some of the shops were still open for last minute purchases. He returned triumphant with two bunches of carrots, a sack of turnips and three handsfull of green onions.   
Earlier Horse had scared up some ratty pack baskets that he had been able to mend enough to last for the the few days they would be on the road. After that the donkey could eat them for all he cared.  
Three put their heads together while the fourth watched drowsily. They all agreed that Buck and Andy should have Tod's blood and his command before they left – just in case. The road could be a dangerous place, children could stray.  
They were all packed when Honey roused the children, urging them to have a little weak ale before they traveled. The youngsters blinked sleepily at the sixth person in the room.   
They would all (or the humans at least) nibble on their bread and cheese as they walked. The plan was to get halfway to Confluentes before they rested.  
Once Andy and Buck were on their feet, Honey led Buck to stand before Tod first. Arms circling him, she pressed his hands together whispered: ”Now bow a little, and say 'good rising Gamli!'”.  
Tod returned the bow with a nod of his head and replied: “Good rising Aeturnus.”  
It was Andala's turn next. Horse's large hands lifted her to stand in front of Tod and helped her press her palms together. As one they said: “Good rising Gamli.”   
The reply was, “Good rising Aeturni.”  
Tod caught the children's eyes. “Know that you are mine now. What happens between us is part of the mysteries, these can only be shared with other Aeturni, you cannot speak of these things to outsiders. Now you will take a drop of my blood to keep you safe.”  
And it was so.


	18. In to the Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heaps of thanks to penpractice who forces me to be coherent and restrains my love of the indefinite.

Into the Valley  
The children lasted until the moon had floated free of the haze on the horizon and risen half way in her journey. Honey rigged a sling with her stola and hefted the weary Andala onto her back. It was still warm enough that she was comfortable stripped down to her under tunic. Bless Fortunus, since he carried their packs the adults could carry the children.  
The young jackass was extremely pleased with his adventure and had not objected to the girl-child's kisses or her curious fingers – except when she poked them in his ears. The solemn boy-child was equally interesting and was of a very good height to whuffle which in turn led to an amusing hunch-and-wiggle. No end of entertainment on this walk.  
Tod kept pace with the Aeturni, their footfalls accenting the beat of the saga. They were working on the latest stanza.

Forever ravens feasting   
on the red cloaks, talons  
and the little foxes on the fiercest warriors.  
Stood the chance for three to winnow  
through Raven's harvest. To reap the reapers,   
to discern a sword that would fit their scabbard  
like a lover, far wanderer  
to be their home defender. 

For a while the children kept the rhythm with dum, dadum, dadum. Andy and Buck waving their arms, but the girl soon faded, sagging against Honey's back. Later, when they were older they would understand the story behind the raven's feast and the feud with the red cloaks.  
By the time the moonlit gorge of the Rhine was spread out before them the boy was stumbling. He finally let Horse set him in his cloak and tie him securely on his back.   
Fortunus spooked every once in a while at the nighttime noises; the foxes were especially busy that night. They'd caught their first glimpse of them tumbling in mock battle across a newly harvested field. Now, there seemed to be a group of half grown kits keeping pace with them. Occasionally one would streak across the road and there would be more yips announcing a new vantage.  
Oddly it was Tod who was most unsettled by the foxes, carefully placing himself between the travelers and the latest chorus of fox-song. Bird, who had Fortunus' lead rope firmly in hand, was being discomfited by the donkey crowding up against his backside. Both Tod and the jack were worried, not good.  
The next time the dragur's gaze slid over him Bird raised his eyebrows questioningly and tipped his head in the direction of the latest set of yips. Tod nodded thoughtfully.  
“I fear it may be Clytia's foxes that are running with the moon. There is a group near here that serves her and relies on her protection – they are mischievous at best, cruel at worst. It is good we are all armed,” he added, reassured by the stout walking sticks the three carried; his lips writhed back from extended fangs, suddenly their fearsome defender. “It has been a while since I've been in an all out fight, if Clytia joins in I shall enjoy it.”  
Tod drifted along their perimeter while the other three adults conferred. They walked in close formation deciding their best defensive positions if push should come to shove. Bird changed the attachment of the donkey's lead rope, he would be formidable if permitted to defend himself, or he would escape – either would be better than seeing him hamstrung.  
.................  
The road1 ran arrow straight a tangent to the curves of the river, sometimes in view of the water, sometimes not and bisecting the odd inky copse of trees.”   
The bright moon stirred a bird to chirp, Tod raised reflective eyes, gauging the phase. “It won't be full for two days yet, perhaps the foxes are only looking for mischief but we'd best be wary when we come within the shadows of trees or through unharvested fields.”  
So they progressed, three trudging abreast for some conversation, the jack trailing, ears swiveling and Tod scouting the edges; the group only pausing for rest in the middle of the most closely shorn fields.  
Fortunus was getting balky and the travelers were truly footsore when they stopped a bit to let the animal drink and grab a bit of grazing. Tod, wanting to get a long view, rose directly upward until he could see well ahead. He was pleased to see they were close to a caupona (hostel) he remembered as being not too awful. The humans couldn't travel much further and stay alert.   
The moon had slid towards its setting point and the chill of the old dark called curls of mist from the ground. Best they hurry, they would reach their rest as the taberna custos (tavern keeper) was waking, Tod would have just enough time to reach the hills above the narrow flood plain and go to ground.  
Landing softly he advised the others that their destination was beyond the next group of trees and they would get there in time to break their fast. They needed to get a move on since the mist was rising quickly and soon they would be stumbling over their own feet.  
The foxes seemed to have gone about their business, or at least they’d stopped yipping, nonetheless Fortunus' continued to crowd Bird, his ears swiveling and his eyes rolling nervously.  
The humans plodded on, looking forward to some respite for their feet and bellies.  
Of course that is precisely what Clytia's foxes were waiting for. They sprang out of the shadows and the mist, intent on causing as much mayhem as they could. White tipped brushes and pale bellies flattened to the ground, they streaked in nipping at the donkey's' legs.   
Who or what-ever had set up this prank hadn't included Fortunus' hooves in their plans, nor had they thought on the impact of three quarter-staffs on the bodies of the foxes. Five delicate black-stockinged forms lay scattered, eyes dulling, tongues lolling, jaws agape.  
Both children had been jarred awake and Buck peeked over Horse's shoulder, while Andy, now that her resting place had stopped jumping around, drifted back to sleep. The travelers turned to Tod.   
“Why,” gritted Bird, “why didn't you help?”  
“Because Clytia herself did not move against us. She wanted to test your temper – more importantly, mine. I may be young for a dragur, but I have learned something of feint and counter-feint between powers. If I had joined in it would have started a feud with some of the magics of the area. Since I did not strike out she knows I have no quarrel with her. Consider, if she wanted battle she would not have sent foxes.”  
“Beautiful little creatures,” Honey turned back to their road, “a pity they couldn't live out their lives.”  
“Small Goddesses can be like that, they take no heed of collateral damage.”   
.................................

Wearily they slogged the remaining miles to the tavern; the excitement of the scuffle fading quickly leaving them feeling drained, the mist had thickened, clammily condensing on their hair and clothes.  
By the time they had gotten to the yard of the tavern, wisps of fog swirled densely and Tod drew them close to confer. “I will have to rest apart from Clytia's territory, it would not be wise to trust to her good will. I will rejoin you at dusk. Rest well this day, mind the foxes.” He vanished and the wall of fog eddied where he had been.  
They could hear the tavern keeper stirring and Horse rapped smartly on the door. They all felt as though they would fall where they stood and waited slumped, shoulders against the door frame.  
“Is too early for this shit! Whaaa ya wants?” Rumpled, stained and with gray hair on end, the tavern keeper slouched before them. “How many? Room or food?”  
The three cringed as gusts of his nasty breath reached them. Bird wearily requested a room and fodder for the donkey. “We'll eat later, before we leave.”  
Unburdening Fortunus they left him tethered to the porch and dragged themselves upstairs to the room, choosing one on the west corner of the building. Hopefully the afternoon sun would wake them in time.  
Horse set Buck down on one of cushions and went to see to Fortunus' comfort. Honey tucked her stola securely around Andala and wedged her behind her brother then dug in the packs for their bed rolls. Bird had fished out the last of the bread from yesterday and they divvied it out; setting aside the largest portion for Horse.   
“I worry about that man,” Honey sighed as she lay down, ”he works too hard, I know he's strong but he always seems to carry more than his share.”  
“You both do. I'll take care of the children if they wake up before us,” Bird decided as he rubbed his burning feet.   
Honey and Bird were already asleep by the time Horse got up to the room. They'd left the lamp burning next to his portion of bread and water, which he ate slowly. It felt so good to sit. Barely taking enough time to finish eating, he pinched out the wick and collapsed sideways onto the bench, asleep even before his head rested on his arm.  
......................  
The children woke ravenous, in time for day meal. Buck remembered some of the scuffle from last night, but none of the details. Bird promised to explain while they were tending to their donkey.  
That beast was king of the paddock – having terrorized the dogs, persecuted the chickens and reached an agreement with the barn cats, he was now having another good roll in the dust. Life was good if your name happened to be Fortunus.  
Horse had bargained for a decent curry brush before they left town and Bird had brought the precious item down with him so the children could give the animal a good going over while he saw to the jack's feet. (He was particularly glad that his fate had not driven him to work in a brush-maker’s shop – he'd rather save his fingers for playing music)   
......................  
Andy had passed the brush over to Buck and had climbed through the paddock rails to pick flowers. She found it wonderfully funny that Fortunus liked to eat the blossoms.  
Bird took over grooming as he explained what had happened last night.   
“More of a combination of things, actually. Very close to full moon which sparked up the foxes, they were this year's kits and full of mischief.” He moved around to the offside and began brushing there.   
“You have to remember that our Tod is magical in his nature which stirred the currents in the area.” Bird paused while he bent double to brush the little donkey's belly.   
“So, the genius locii, what the Romans call the spirit of the place, wanted to understand the temper of the strange magic traversing her land and used the foxes to test it out. Kind of like sticking your finger in the soup to see if it is hot.” He paused leaning on Fortunus, “The moon stirs up many things, it is wise to be careful.”  
Andala returned with a fist full of flowers for the donkey. Bird made sure she knew to keep her little fingers out of the way since, unlike people, quadrupeds really couldn't see what was under their noses. “They are also very jittery about anything right behind them, since they can't see there either, and more likely to kick first and ask questions later. So go around the front if you can, lovey.”  
Buck listened solemnly to Bird's explanations and when Andy had gone to pick more flowers he used the silence to ask what else was stirred by the full moon.  
.................  
“Since you've always lived in the shadow of a castra, you've probably not met any of the were. When we come across some I'll help you recognize what sets them apart.”  
It was good that the boy was listening, Bird thought, even better that he was asking sensible questions.   
“The were beasts run under the full moon. Not so much around here, but further north. They certainly want nothing to do with the Roman army. Even though they would make good soldiers they could not run with the moon, soldiers aren't permitted to go missing that way. What if they were on the march? They'd probably be executed for desertion.”  
Finally finished with Fortunus, Bird brushed the dust from his tunic.“Now, we all smell like jackasses! Time for a bath.”  
..............  
The sleepers were absently-mindedly rubbing their faces trying to wake when the children burst in on them.   
“We're going to take a bath, d'ya want to come, can I wear my new tunic or should I stick to the old one? Where's Andy's clothes?”  
The girl-child barreled into Honey chattering a mile-a-minute about flowers and 'tunus and c'oze and baths and d'meel.  
The men were dumbfounded but Honey casually agreed to find her tunic, said it had been a good idea to feed the donkey and it had been pretty amazing that he liked to eat flowers and that they would join her in the bath before they ate.  
Even Bucky was impressed. Honey looked around and said....“it is one of the blessings of the Goddess that women can easily learn to understand child-speak.”   
The men nodded wisely, pretending to understand. Bird scooped up the proffered clothes and herded the children out to the bathhouse.   
......................  
When everyone was clean and freshly dressed they all gathered upstairs to pack.   
“I'm not looking forward to colder weather and trying to stay clean, makes me itch just thinking about all the woolies. I like summer much better,” Honey commented.  
“At least you'll be home, not sleeping rough. I hope I make it back for Samhain, or at least Yule, I'd hate to be stuck singing for other clans and miss Yule.”  
“Yule? Mama talked about Yule, said it was good to celebrate and there was a wonderful feast with all her favorite treats. She didn't say much more.” Buck looked down at his hands.  
“It is about the same time as the Romans are meant to have their Saturnalia.” Honey explained. “During the darkest time of the year we celebrate the earth turning back towards the light. The further north you go, the colder and darker it is and the more important it becomes.”  
“Did we miss anything?” Honey looked around the room. “ No? Good.”   
Glancing up from the pack baskets she asked if anyone thought Tod might be up. Andy looked around, expecting one of those odd things that adults took for granted like kittens appearing out of nowhere and just as suddenly vanishing. Buck was a little more skeptical thinking it might be like one of those answer-less questions about the weather.   
He was about to shrug it off when Bird looked directly at him and asked, “What do you think? Is Tod awake?”  
The boy was totally baffled. “How can I know?”   
Andy, sensing her brother felt defensive, edged closer to him. Whatever it was they'd feel better together.  
“Tcha! Bird, you are scaring the children.” Horse crouched down to explain. “Remember last night Tod gave us all a drop of his blood?”  
The boy nodded solemnly, the girl a beat later, trying to catch up.  
“That helps us to find him, we just have to concentrate, think about him and we will feel where he is.”  
Ya, one of those odd grownup things, Buck thought. Rather look at those rune pictures Bird had laid out before. Warriors and great deeds!  
So they all stood in a group thinking about Tod really hard, except Andy, she was trying to plait her hair. Then she heard Tod say: I'll fix your hair later lovey.  
“He over dere,” she pointed with her chin since her fingers were still tangled, “and he'w do my hair, c'I ha' honey my bread?”  
“Whoa, she's good!” everyone said, impressed.  
...............  
“Looks like I found my apprentice!” Honey was wide eyed at her good luck. Some had to wait until they were aged to find one with talent and then all the training had to be crammed into a few short years. As long as something untoward didn't happen, this was good. This was very good. I'll have to take her in hand as soon as we get back to the valley.  
...............  
Horse and Bird stood either side of Buck (who was bewildered by the adult's meaningful glances), wondering if he were to be a candidate as an apprentice, he was old enough to be taken on.   
Horse leaned back to gauge the boy's frame, would he have the necessary strength? For the finer work perhaps, not a bad thing that.  
Considering Buck's interest in the runes, Bird thought there was potential there – but not so much as a bard. Although his voice was sweet it was not true.   
Before rivalry could flash between the cousins a compromise occurred to him. Glancing speculatively between Horse and the boy he mused: “a little bit of both? Something different? Metal, yes, but with the rune's gift.”  
Gravely Horse and Bird laid their hands on the young man's shoulders. “There is a place for you also, child,” consoled Horse.   
.....................  
Before it all got too soppy, Tod blew into the room. “Where's the comb sweetie? I'll braid your hair.”  
The girl child retrieved the comb and gravely instructed Tod: “No owies.”  
Watching the dragur gently comb through Andala's baby fine hair, Honey thought on what had happened. “Tod? Did you realize that she,” tipping her head in Andy's direction, “had the best lock on your position?”  
“Ya, she was clearest in my mind. It was almost as though she were next to me.” Tod turned inward thinking on what was growing between them. It was puzzling, in the two centuries since 'Tura had stolen him from the Romans he had never heard of a dragur having this kind of relationship with his humans. Blood slaves, certainly, but not this give and take. Not equals either, a mutuality? Whatever. “Has that happened before?” he asked.  
The three were looking at each other, each shrugged. “This rapport, with only one blood exchange and with a child? Not that I know of. Maybe in an adept after many exchanges? I have heard hints of that in our sagas,” related the bard.  
“Much to think on,” Horse said slapping his thighs before standing up, “I'm hungry. Did you feed, Gamli?”  
Chuckling, Tod said “Ya, I grabbed a 'bite' on the way here.”  
The children had no idea why the three kept snickering as they swung up the baskets and followed the children downstairs.  
...............  
Tod was feeling, he was not too sure what, but he was feeling. Less like a beleaguered street cur? Yes. The more connected he was to the three, now five, the stronger and the more he felt at home in himself. Was this because of the Aeturni? Or was it because he had felt 'Tura's final death right before Corbulo jumped him – finally free of their maker's command not to kill the Raetian?  
Tcha! Maybe both.  
He wanted to do something with all this energy. They had this thing they'd do when he was human. They'd run down a boulder field leaping up to carom off of the rock faces, going faster and faster. Until someone missed their step and they ended up in a laughing pile at the bottom of the slope. That's what he wanted. Wasn't it?  
.........................  
Their boots clattered down the stairs, Bird still herding the children before him, Horse stolidly lugging packs, then Honey with her own burdens and Tod with his share. His eyes sparkled as he crowded on the woman's heels, quick as a wink he reached out and squeezed a handful of her ass. Turning with a growl and a glower Honey was met with Tod's grin, he was having so much fun he was even showing fang.  
....................  
With the moon already stirring up the wild things they hoped to be within reach of Confluentes by morning. None had any desire to be on the road during a full moon, that would be asking for trouble. The town was big enough that they could replenish supplies, earn a little coin, relax for a day and listen to the gossip.  
“Hey, remember that place on the edge of town we stayed the last time we were through here? You want to stay there again? They had a decent paddock in the back.” Horse's first thought was always for the animals.  
“Nah, I'd like to be closer to the Market place. It will easier to set up a spot for me and Honey.” A decent venue was Bird's priority. No audience, no coin.  
“I didn't get to see the gardens at the temple of Asclepias last time, it would make for a nice walk. The children might like the change, can we find something in the middle?”  
..................  
As they set out Buck was riding Fortunus and the adults were shouldering their own packs.   
Tod carried Andy seated on his forearm, gravely conversing. After this evening they seemed to have quite a liking for each other and the girl-child often patted the dragur's cheek earnestly.  
“Wi' there b'foxes?” (perhaps)   
“You scare 'em 'way?” (oh, yes)  
“You 'care o' me?” (always)   
“You 'care o' Bucky too?” (of course), there was a pause while Andy frowned, thinking.   
Her pink little mouth pursed in determination, she sighed and finally asked: “See you' teef?”  
“They are sharp, little bit.”  
Buck got down from Fortunus' back and took the lead rope proudly. He kept pace with Bird, only skipping to keep up once in a while. It was hard on his short legs and soon he would resume his perch on the donkey's back.  
Honey and Horse were bracketing Tod, listening intently to his conversation with Andy. She was not about to give up her interest in his teeth. Only occasionally did they have to duck their heads to hide smiles. It wouldn't do to make the girl self conscious.   
“Wanna see teef!” Such a look Tod got!  
Deep laughter vibrated in Horse's chest.   
Tod thought that Horse's laughter was a warm and companionable sound; like an evening's walk with friends, a dim memory from long ago. It put a layer of ease between him and his suspicion that Clytia wasn't done with them. She had no love for the creatures of the night.  
He blew a strand of Andy's hair away from his face and reluctantly opened his mouth. What am I doing? A dragur, at the beck and call of a human child? There is something here, new feelings, a kinship; something about her calls me.  
“No, see big teef!” Her forehead was practically in his mouth, impatient for the sight of the big teeth.  
Reluctantly Tod forced his fangs to extend. It had taken him a while to learn to control them, at first they were no more at his command than his heartbeat had been before. Long boring nights had schooled him in their deployment and reading their signals.  
“Touch?”  
Nodding, Tod sighed. For one who didn't need to breathe he was doing a lot of sighing tonight.  
Her forefinger was more delicate than his fang, plump with a pearly fingernail and thankfully much cleaner than usual.  
“Ow!”   
Tod's tongue flicked out to capture the drop of blood on the child's fingertip. Thinking to save the situation he tried to deflect Andy's reaction.  
“Mmmm, yummy! Are all little girls this yummy or is it just you?” Making nom, nom noises into her neck.  
She shrugged, “only fa(fair) trade, me, you. See again!”  
Intervening, Honey reminded Andala that her father's sword hadn't been a toy, neither were belt knives nor Tod's fangs.   
Turning to the dragur she advised: “She'll be after you all night, if you aren't careful.”   
It was Tod's turn to shrug. It was a distraction from the prickling of his nerves.  
...................  
Having the kids ride the jackass saved their backs and they made good time on the road. The foxes sat at a distance watching while the bats swooped overhead and great owls visited the buffet of small squeaky things in the fields.  
The moon had risen, minus its final shadowed edge, nonetheless out shouting the stars. The children tipped their heads back as they rode, listening to Bird's account of the Lady riding the moon and how the stars got their names.   
After a while Tod took up the thread, recounting strange tales that he'd heard during his travels. His blood brother Corbulo had held that the moon Goddess was Diana the huntress and her brother Apollo drove the sun chariot. But Corbulo was more Greek than Roman and thought the Romans uncivilized farmers and brigands. There was a story that followed Helios, the Roman Apollo and how the maiden Leucothoë2 loved him. When her spiteful sister killed her because she had won the favor with a God, Helios punished her sister, Clytia, by changing her into the sweet smelling but toxic Heliotrope, condemned to always turn to the sun.  
.................  
He told what he knew of Zalmoxis, the god that his maker 'Tura pursued; how she wanted him to teach her the rites for that deity so she could break the ill luck that dogged her heels.  
“The source of her misfortune was her own greed and willfulness.” He had learned from her example to stand back and think before acting. Although it had been a late lesson, he knew that if he had learned it earlier he would now be dust and bones. So there was good and bad in everything.  
..................  
The children had been shifted onto Honey and Horse's backs and Tod occasionally sprinted upwards to spy out their progress and allay his anxiety.  
The moon was at its apex and it illumined enough of the valley to be able to pick out two riders coming from the south. The dragur's sharp vision even made out dispatch cases slung over their shoulders.   
The alternating jog and then trot of a long distance gait meant that they were traveling from a fort not just one of the in between relay posts. Even though the road was in good condition and was sufficiently moon lit for travel, what message was important enough to courier it at night? The pace meant that although it was important, it wasn't 'kill-the-horses' important.   
Tod thought back to what he'd learned during the last unpleasant season of his life. What did that message portend? Aha! Probably a big General's inspection progress. Poor what's-his-face, Marten, the kids' cousin. He was going to be up to his eyeballs in spit polish!   
The quiet conversation and the night sounds of a few moments ago were being overlain by the nearing messengers. Tod would have to wait until the riders had passed before he could sink back into that calm again. The chink and jangle of their soldiers kit was irritating his already frayed nerves; the scent of metal polish and oiled leather overwhelming the scent of his people. The soldiers tossed ribald jokes back and forth to pass the time, their laughter sawed at his eardrums more stridently than Fortunus' braying. It felt like it echoed back at him, even if he put his hands over his ears.   
..........................  
Bird turned to walk backwards, watching Tod hover, drifting in the night air. “Something's bothering our Gamli, he's kind of curled up into himself and he's got his hands over his ears‽”  
“Shhhush, sshush.” Sharp-eared Honey cautioned. “I hear horses.”  
“There are trees up ahead, we'd better make ourselves scarce.” Bird turned and dragged Fortunus behind a screen of brush.  
Honey scuttled in behind him and Horse took a position where he could grab the jack's muzzle to forestall any asinine greetings on his part. They could all see well enough to watch the couriers' approach.   
The three were so enmeshed in Tod's anger and drive to extinguish the source of his distress it leached through the link until they too shook with the force of it.  
The closest messenger twisted to one side and spat in the road which propelled the Gamli's back in his mind to the horror of his captivity and his abuse at the hands (and fists) of the soldiers. The tide of nightmares washed over all of them leaving the travelers trembling and clinging to each other while the children wailed.  
Only Bird had been facing the carnage, unable to look away while their Elder roared and tore chunks off the red cloaks. Only one horse escaped.  
That bitch Clytia, couldn't leave well enough alone!


	19. By the Light of the Silvery Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At its apex, the moon appraised the Rhine valley, picking out the straight lines of human endeavor, the right angles of the latifunda, the allées of trees leading to the farms, the terraces of grapevines, the road drawn toward the city of Confluentes.  
> Tod (Godric) and his people continue their journey towards the Aeturnos' home, hindered by his flashbacks and the presence of Roman soldiers.

By the Light of the Silvery Moon  
At its apex, the moon appraised the Rhine valley, picking out the straight lines of human endeavor, the right angles of the latifunda1, the allées of trees leading to the farms, the terraces of grapevines, the road drawn toward the city of Confluentes2. The miniature figure of a horse had just enough wit left to carry its head at an angle the reins trailing to one side, as it tore in the direction of that city.  
The sounds of terror shook the air and the scent of sweet horse blood and dung overlay the road. Soon this would be spiked with the sharper note of human blood and open omnivore gut.  
The horse that didn't get away still screamed from the pain the dragur had caused in his rush to get at the red cloaks. The pitiful noise not only woke the children but irritated Tod enough for him to turn and deal a backhanded slap that broke the beast's neck, before he went back to pulling bits off the messengers.   
The humans had never seen such shimmering rage, their Gamli was incoherent with it.   
What on the Goddess' green earth was going on? What madness had suddenly seized their ally?  
◊  
Overwhelmed with the flashes of memory, Tod raised his face from the butchery and began to rub chunks of flesh over his arms and face. “I will bathe in your blood for the dishonor you brought to me. I will shit in your mouth, foul pederasts. I will cast your families into a cess pit and bury them there!” pushing to his feet, then stumbling to one side Tod declared, ”I cannot be chained my spirit is free.” He sank to his knees, “I cannot be chained, I CAN NOT! I WILL NOT!”  
Suddenly he crumbled into himself his face a mask of horror, his focus turned inward, his inky pupils narrowing enough so that a thread of gray circled the iris.  
A beat of silence, then all drew breath again. Another beat, broken by a small whisper: “My Tod, he hurt? He cry?”   
“Shuussssh! Baby.” Honey swayed, rocking Andy. “Let him settle first, then we'll help.”  
Horse slid Bucky off his back and herded him over to Bird. “You stay here for a bit, guy. Let me get a handle on this.”  
Keeping his limbs loose and posture relaxed Horse walked to where he was sure he was within Tod's visual range. Looking towards the hills, he spoke softly.  
“My man, Tod, where are you? What do you see?”  
Three breaths. The donkey flicked his tail.  
“Tod, tell us what you see, what you feel.”  
Another breath, little Buck choked on a sob.  
“Tod, you are on the road with us, your people. Tell us what you are seeing.”  
“I am caged, I am chained, they spit on me, they call me beast.” Tod seized his hair and tore at it.   
“I am a priest! I am free! I am Raetian. My spirit abides no matter what shame you visit upon me!”  
“You are here with us, your people. We are free.”  
Horse glanced over his shoulder to signal that they needed to join his effort.  
...unencumbered  
the Sword of the clan roved, hunting seeking  
out the fleeting life force of prey. Taking joy in thrumming pulse, thudding heart.  
Swiftly skimming the flanks of mountains  
reaving river valleys, reaping fear.  
Pause,  
Free!  
The three adults stepped closer, perforce bringing the children with them. Skipping to the last stanza, their stanza:  
Whetted beak slashing from the sun's chariot's  
ascent. Always ravens feeding on the red cloaked  
talons and the little foxes on the fiercest warriors.'  
Stood the chance for three to winnow   
through Raven's harvest. (the children joined in for the part they knew)To reap the reapers,  
to discern a sword that would fit their scabbard   
like a lover. Embrace and welcome like a long lost   
lover, (Tod added his voice) far wanderer to be their home defender,  
their weal. His death consumes their life, their life  
sups his death. This is their mead, eternal feast.  
Forever Free.  
Tod opened and closed his darkly sticky fists; looked around at the carnage, mutely appalled.  
Andala scrambled out of the sling on Honey's back, trotting over to Tod she scolded: “you dirty, you wash NOW!”   
Tugging on his forefinger the girl led him over to one of the rivulets feeding the river. “Det the ick off! I hep. Dimmy shirt.”  
Honey bustled over to show Andy the best way to scrub, of course there was more demonstrating on Honey's part than there was scrubbing on Andy's part, but that was fine.  
After being relieved of his tunic Buck got involved too; as soon as he was handed the jar of soap he set to washing Tod's hair, relaxing as the blood swirled away, feeling less buffeted by anxiety.  
It wasn't as though the boy hadn't seen people killed before. He thought about all those fights, sometimes with knives. Last spring a runaway horse had crashed into a produce cart and impaled itself on one of the supports, it had screamed and screamed until the owner came and slit its throat. Of course there was always the odd crucifixion for when a thief had been caught. Fortunately they were always on the Via Praetoria, on the other side of town. Mama wouldn't let Andy go, said it would give her nightmares but Papa took him a couple of times and he got to stand around with the other auxiliaries. It was pretty neat.  
Honey stepped back after spreading the shirts over brush to drip. Draping her stole over her head to shield her back from the rough bark she leaned against a tree while watching the boy and the dragur side by side. Lady I'm tired.   
Amazing how similar their bodies were, the same compact frame, the same nicely muscled butt, the same dark hair. Even the same feet. She suspected that their skin would be the same tone if Tod were still human. Tch, she thought, amazing.  
Little mistress bossy-boots insisted on combing Tod's hair and patting it into place. He seemed to have pulled into himself, even ignoring Andy's mothering. Finally he broke down and hugged the small body, pressing his face into her hair. Buck understood that Tod felt bad for what happened and awkwardly patted his shoulder.  
“'S all right. We weren't scared too much. My sister was worried that you were hurt.”   
◊  
Slowly they got themselves together. Tod still wasn't himself, the blank look in his eyes made Honey's stomach hurt. Horse hovered nearby to urge him along and Bird kept pace; Fortunus happily shambled in their wake.   
The dragur very carefully thought of nothing at all. Later he might let bits and pieces of the messenger incident appear in his conscious mind but for now he paid attention to his feet striking the ground and the cool air stroking his arms. Most of the smell of blood was gone, except his shoes. Fumbling with the ties, Tod impatiently ripped his feet free of the noxious pieces of leather and threw them so far that they shrank into pinpoints before they thudded into a field.  
Padding along barefoot on the dusty stones felt better, he could concentrate on the people around him. They will not hurt me, they will not trap me, they will not laugh at me nor spit on me. There are no chains, there are no bars I am free. I am the far wanderer, I am free.  
Lifting his head a little Tod drew in the scents of his people; Horse's signature was heaviest, richly woody, with a tang of iron; Honey was....honey and herbs and mouth-wateringly female; Bird was lighter, dryer but redolent of furs and grasslands. Ahhh, the children, indefinite but still male and female...citrus, almost reminiscent of puppies? They all carried the scent of the rivulet they'd washed in, last year's rotted leaves and frog spawn.   
Don't think about the stench the Roman's carried. Olive oil and fermented fish, metal polish and stale masculinity, armor padding soaked with yesterday's sweat and horses. Don't think about it! His fangs snapped down.  
I am the far wanderer, I am free.   
His fangs retreated reluctantly, some part of him was still dwelling within the horrors of his human life.  
I am the far wanderer, I am free. Tod forced his mind back into emptiness.  
◊  
In a slowly moving wedge the humans trailed in the Gamli's wake. He was unreachable, even stumbling occasionally, but progressing.

They worried where he would spend his day death. Would they have to keep him safe?  
“We will not get to Confluentes before sunrise at this rate.” Bird picked at the donkey's lead rope, his brow twisted in consternation.  
“Isn't that the second oxbow we just passed? The hills are crowding the road right up against the river.” Horse pulled at his lower lip. “It seems to me that right after the vineyards to the left things will open out and we will reach Brey. Then there will be an easy ascent along a stream and then we can cut west,over to our river.”  
In agreement Bird added “That way we won't have to walk all the way to Confluentes, only to double back along the Moselle. My feet are ready for a rest.”  
“You've been to Brey, haven't you Horse? Will it suit?”  
“Ya, I was there as a journeyman.”   
They walked a few paces further before Horse continued “I worked with the smith there for almost a year, he was unusually talented. I would like to see him again. We can stay with him if he doesn't have a new 'prentice. There's room for Tod too, I know the place well.”  
So tired, Honey was so tired, she was practically sleepwalking.  
◊  
On they went, the mists rose from the land, the somnolent children swayed suspended on their backs and the donkey sighed as he walked.  
Tod seemed to be trapped in another world, his face frozen into the marble mask of an old time statue, eyes wide and staring.  
They were all stumbling like Tod by the time they had reached Brey. Horse pointed out the loft over the smithy and told everyone to get Tod bedded down up there. He would talk to the smith and take care of the jack while they got settled.  
Bird pulled the harness and panniers off of Fortunus. Horse fished a rag out of one of the baskets and started to rub him down.  
“Bird, you get Tod up that ladder, there are pallets where 'prentices usually sleep. We'll go wake the smith as soon as he's tucked in.  
It took some serious pounding to wake Isarnomarus – he was deaf as a post from all the years of work at the anvil.   
In the end his daughter Epasia came to the door, her hair unbound and in her under tunic. She was flustered to see Horse before her, flustered and pleased.  
Suddenly, even tired as he was, Horse fumbled with the pack strap he was holding and stammered: “I wanted to visit before, I didn't mean to barge in and drag my cousins with me But all sort of things happened and we ended up adopting these kids and we didn't really have a place to stay and my cousin is dead tired. And, and.” he was over come with embarrassment, “I'm sorry to wake you.”  
“Sure, sure, c'mon in, I think Pops is just getting up. You'll have to rest up in this loft. Put the kids on my pallet.”  
Retrieving a splinter of wood Epasia crouched over the hearth to stir the embers, “I'll get a lamp lit so you can see where you are going.” As soon as the spill flamed she held it against the wick until it glowed steadily. Before she stood the blacksmith's daughter carefully tucked the ends of several slender splits into the heart of the embers.   
“That'll catch soon.”  
In the soft light of the lamp the travelers could see that Epasia's hair was a fulgent red, her eyes winter gray. What a contrast! Fire and sleet!   
Immediately Honey was envious. Brown, brown, brown, gah! I feel like a sparrow next to her.  
Horse bent a little and softly thanked the woman for her hospitality. “You have always been welcoming to me and mine, we thank you.”  
From the warmly attentive look on Horse's face Bird and Honey suspected that more was being said than actually voiced. Oh, myyyyy.  
◊  
It would be a slow day, mid-morning Horse donned his leather apron to spend time with Isarnomarus and Epasia in the shop. All afternoon the anvil rang as they excitedly showed each other new things.   
While the children were drawn into the sooty shop by the rhythm of the hammers, they were held there, entranced by Epasia skillfully wielding her hammer to draw out tendrils and leaves on some fancy ironwork. As the piece cooled the young smith would pass it back to Horse who would tong out another white-hot bit for her to work on. A well practiced pas de deux.  
The master smith was manning the bellows and he beckoned the children to watch him raise and lower the arm that alternately expanded and compressed the ridged leather bladder. With each rough exhale of the leather, sparks swirled up from the charcoal and the heart of the firepot glowed white.  
Bucky drifted around the shop, much taken with the stuff piled in the corners and some small barrels filled with odd bits of broken tools. He fingered the sheaves of thick wire ready to be cut and shaped into nails. Just a wondrous collection of grimy stuff. Buck was in heaven.  
On the other hand Andala looked at her brother horrified, and withdrew to stand with Honey.  
“Pick f'owers 'Tunus?” seemed like a much better thing to do.  
“Good idea, little bit.”   
Hand in hand they sauntered out into the sunlight and towards the hillside behind the smithy. It would be as good a time as any to begin teaching Andala herb-lore.  
◊  
In search of news – and coin – Bird made for Brey. He thought it would be a good staging point for those heading into the city of Confluentes for a little trade. He imagined that the merchants might choose to rest the pack animals a bit before the rest of the trek, perhaps pick up a few deals without paying the big city prices for a place to stay.   
The notion that had been tickling the bard's brain grew into a full fledged plan. He noted the bridges across the Moselle and the Rhine, and mooring for the barges heading downstream on the Rhine towards Germania Inferior and the cold North Sea.   
Of course the most heavily laden traffic moved south, upstream towards Rome of the multitudinous appetites, for wheat, for wine, for slaves. Even the local black pottery was much in demand.  
The Aeturni had found a good market for their sweet wines in Confluentes; a local merchant would buy anything they produced, still, it might be more profitable to have their own staging point. Carefully scanning the terrain, Bird thought of Horse and his interest in the flame haired blacksmith. Not a bad idea at all. They just needed to see whether the short cut3 would permit passage of the wagons carrying the amphorae of wine. The rustic track branched off to the west right before the via crossed a stream plashing under a small bridge. No wonder the blacksmith's shop did so well, right at the juncture of two roads and within reach of good water. After noticing the warmth between his cousin and the smith's daughter, Bird wondered if Horse might want to settle here and how that would work out for them all.  
Would it be practical for the Aeturni to establish footholds in the surrounding communities? Would that be dangerous for their Gamli? Could everyone be sealed to secrecy? It might work. They'd have to think on it.  
◊  
The main square of Brey was easy enough to find, there was a colonnade and a gate right off of the Augusta Vindelicorum4. Bird's feet had gotten weary of that road and he would be glad to put his boots to something besides paving stones. For now he had plotzed in the shade of the colonnade watching the vendors.  
By the time the sun had slid far enough to the west to push back the shade Bird had been enjoying, he'd had enough of the gossip, earned enough coin, picked up a nice loaf of bread and was more than ready to head back to his comrades and share the sight of squad of Roman soldiers returning to Confluentes at full pace5, followed more slowly by a guarded wagon bearing two coffins . Time to disappear, hmmmm?  
The house was quiet, he suspected that Honey had excused herself to nap with the children. Bird found Horse and Epasia wrapped around each other in the shade of an old chestnut tree and decided to check on the Elder.  
Shadows had closed in around the smithy and little light penetrated the gloomy loft. The steer hide that they had spread out over Tod was undisturbed. Settling with his back against a post, Bird's eyes drifted closed as he waited for the dragur to rise.  
◊  
Tod's nose quickened to the scent of leather, acrid soot and the old blood smell of quenched iron. Smithy, yes. One flex of his fingers drew new air under the hide, new air which carried the scent of his people, Bird was waiting, his heart in sleep mode.  
The passing of last night's anger left his belly empty. Was it hunger, when his chest ached? What had really happened? The clicking and creaking of the the soldier's harness had set his nerves on edge, their voices pressed on his skull and when one had hawked and spat it felt like the tile floor of his first captivity had exploded around him leaving shards all over the landscape.  
He thought Bird would let him feed, and then perhaps, other things. He had the feeling that the bard preferred men as partners; that was fine, it didn't matter to him so much any more. You could be raped by either sex, after a while you could enjoy sex with either. A distraction.  
A distraction, but perhaps in this case a whole new set of possibilities. His people permitted him to have the luxury of relaxing in fond comradeship. A luxury he hadn't indulged in since before he'd left the mountains in his sophomoric attempt to lesson the Romans.   
All the same his throat tightened with fear revolving around the course he was on; he'd had it pounded into him ever since he was made dragur that none were trustworthy and his only reality was kill or be killed.   
Tod understood the hungers of his body, how long he could go before his needs would set up a raucous clamor within. But what to do with loneliness? 'Tura and Corbulo were into searching out fresh conquests; charming, enticing, winning and slaughtering new victims. Always the hunt for something new.  
Their decadent pursuits roiled his stomach. Dragur or not Tod still clung by his fingertips to honor.  
His bard levered up to sit beside him and lean drowsily into his shoulder. “Is it full dark?” Bird asked, then spoke of the notion that was foremost in his mind.  
“When I went into Bray today, I passed right by the via vicinales which joins the Augusta not far from the smithy. I think we should take the shortcut, maybe stay away from the fort at Confluentes.6 Have you been that way Tod?   
“Mmmm, perhaps. I'll have to have a look.” He soothed himself running his fingers through Bird's hair, not as thick as Horse's but nice. Indulging in one more deep inhale of the bard's scent, my human, Tod suggested they find the others.  
◊  
The women were crouched over the meal fire, each contributing ingredients to the pot for their supper. When Bird laid out the fresh bread he'd gotten that day everyone's eyes lit up. Perfect.   
Arguably, the dessert might be even better. When the distaff contingent had ventured out Andala had been the one to spot cherries in a neighbor's tree. Honey had begged leave of the young mistress of the house to pick fruit in exchange for a share.   
The woman gave up on trying to heft a toddler over her very pregnant belly and let him race in circles around her while adroitly switching hands and maintaining a grim hold on his wrist; she used her chin to point Honey in the direction of a basket. Peremptorily she dragged the dusty little tornado inside, roughly insisting that he drink his cup of milk and that he would, by the good Goddess, take a nap.  
As the kerfluffle inside the house subsided Honey steadied the little girl in the tree and instructed her to pick the cherries by the stems to keep them fresh. They took turns at picking, Honey using her time to weave a little orchard grass basket to carry their share of fruit and helping Andy craft her own version just large enough to hold five cherries.   
They delivered the harvest to the neighbor, who by that time was sitting on her front stoop half asleep in the afternoon sun, then returned to the smithy to collect Buck for a wash and a nap.  
So it went for the humans and the dragur, a little of this, a little of that until they gathered again in the evening to decide their course.  
The shadows were deep in the room and the fire lit the gathered faces warmly. It was, perhaps, a little startling for Isarnomarus and Epasia when Tod appeared at their door. Deftly he caught their eyes and explained that he he was a familiar figure to them, there was nothing startling about his habits or appearance, they expected to see him occasionally with or without the Aeturni but he wasn't to be a topic for gossip. The blacksmiths' eyes were a little glassy, but they nodded agreeably. “Yes, yes, of course, so good to see you again Tod.”  
The children scrambled to their feet to make their little bows and whisper, “Good rising, Gamli.” Honey and Horse did the same, as did the blacksmiths (not to be thought lacking in courtesy) after a pause.   
The Elder remained standing to return the greeting: “A good evening to you, my people,” and then sat gracefully at the foot of the meal fire.  
Andy immediately scrambled over to wiggle into his lap and fill his ears with chatter about cherries.  
While eating, the adults all noticed Epasia carefully serving Horse right after she'd taken care of her father, tending them both carefully, filling their mugs before passing the pitcher of ale. Honey and Bird smiled into their bowls and cut meaningful glances in Tod's direction. Even the old blacksmith was sensible of the little by-play between his daughter and the journeyman; he also caught the smiles of the other Aeturni and nodded to himself. This couldn't possibly work out better. Horse was a good man and a skilled craftsman.  
When they were done with the soup and were spitting cherry pits into the fire, Bird tiptoed around the idea he'd had before.  
“This shop, Isarnomarus, is so excellently placed.” The deaf blacksmith watched the bard's lips carefully. “With the location and your own hard work you have prospered. Will your daughter take over or will you look for a partner?”  
The old man cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, putting his broad chest and gnarled arms on display.   
“I have been most fortunate in my business, but it would be even greater good fortune if I could find one willing to bide here and wed my daughter. Many have offered, but she would have none of them – truthfully they were not good enough for her or as capable in the smithy. If there had been one I would have adopted him and made him my heir.” Isarnomarus wilted a bit.  
“I hoped that I would see Epasia settled in a way no one could dispute. We don't have the money for the fancy lawyers and the written contracts that the Romans use.”  
“Erm, sir!” Horse reached out to brush the old man's arm.   
“This is more public than I'd hoped, but Epasia and I were talking today and decided that we would like to wed. If that meets with your approval?”  
“Perhaps, there are details that need to be worked out.” Bird interjected, “and our elders must be consulted.” He looked towards the the other end of the fire pit, “Gamli, what are your thoughts?”  
At another time or another place the smiths would have been surprised at such a young person's opinion being sought.  
Before she leaned forward to catch the dragur's response, Honey quickly pulled out a bit of leather and tied her hair back securely. She'd learned the hard way not to get so involved in what was going on that she frizzled her hair.  
Shifting Andala to sit on his thigh, Tod's brows drew together as he weighed the possibilities. “I think it would be a good match, good for all parties. Except the adoption.” He gestured to the two smiths, “It would be to everyone's advantage if we were to adopt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gratitude to penpractice for keeping me coherent. Recently I've realized that I also owe a debt to Octavia Butler, the world became a poorer place with her death.


	20. Over the Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roads traced the course of the Rhine, skirting the spillways at the source in the alps, paralleling its rush and hurry to fill the long lake and then along its debouchure at the western end. These ancient tracks had been overtaken by the miracle of Roman technology. Marvels they were, these new roads, either boldly clinging to cliff faces or cautiously drawing their skirts away from an expanding river. Conduits, the roads, the rivers, all channeling wheat and glass and metals and slaves to feed the clamorous belly of Rome.   
> Our intrepid travelers venture further with their companion vampyr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I go hat in hand to penpractice, each time she grants me her magic beta skills.

Roads traced the course of the Rhine, skirting the spillways at the source in the alps, paralleling its rush and hurry to fill the long lake and then along its debouchure at the western end. These ancient tracks had been overtaken by the miracle of Roman technology. Marvels they were, these new roads, either boldly clinging to cliff faces or cautiously drawing their skirts away from an expanding river. Conduits, the roads, the rivers, all channeling wheat and glass and metals and slaves to feed the clamorous belly of Rome.   
Mule trains plodded towards the hinterlands with pouchfuls of gold for the legions and bribes for the kinglets; often overtaken by the messengers1 speeding outwards to chat up the Consuls and direct the business of an empire.  
Great barges drifted downstream to the provinces; only to be drawn back through Germania Inferior and Superior2 loaded with the harvested gold from the breadbasket of Gaul. The Romans wanted their bread.   
At the headwaters of the Rhine the Gaulish bounty was packed overland to the southbound Rhone and thence down to Massalia3 to be transshipped to great Rome herself.  
As liquid treasure, the sweet pale wines of the Moselle and the Rhine fetched a premium from the merchants. Wagon loads of amphorae4, each carefully nestled into a straw-cushioned grid, bumped and groaned down from the vineyards to the docks along the river, whereupon the clay5 vessels were tenderly repacked aboard the waiting barges.  
The easiest route for the wine-makers to use was a float down the Moselle to where it joined the Rhine. Confluentes; Such a practical name for a place where all the wines of the region were gathered before being transshipped to Rome. Where every bargee and broker took their cut of the profits.  
C  
Could the Aeturni cut out a few of the middlemen and keep enough coin to invest in their vineyards? Perhaps, if they could use the shortcut across the neck of land that separated the Moselle from the Rhine near Rhen, it might be possible.   
The matter was debated by the six figures disposed about the meal fire. The two women were of a more conservative disposition. Neither the red head nor the honeyed blonde thought they should venture all of one season's vintage, but instead proceed by steps – test the waters as it were.   
The grizzled blacksmith waved the smoke away from his face and offered to make inquiries amongst his neighbors. Perhaps one of the local water-men might be interested in such a venture.  
Coughing, the slight bard, sputtered out that he favored a bold move – nothing ventured, nothing gained. Horse leaned back away from the smoke and averred that he preferred to think on it for a while. Cautious Horse.  
The tattooed youth on the other side of the fire knew the business of wine well. His homeland produced the prized Raetian vintages and he agreed with the bard that it might be profitable to break the hold Confluentes had on the vintner's trade.  
Blinking, her eyes tearing, Honey wondered aloud if it might rain, since the smoke wasn't rising properly and they might do better by lamplight.  
The rain did start, drops first pattering on the front stoop, then random leaks through the thatch spat and hissed when they landed in the fire. Duly the wicks were tended and three lamps were lit at the fire before they resettled and returned to their original topic. All agreed on the benefits of an alliance between their clans.  
The grizzled smith coughed and cleared his throat. Extending one palm and then the other he indicated the younger master smiths. “I am no longer as able as I once was and I need more help to keep the shop running well.”  
“It would be a shame not to maintain a smithy in this location, it is quite profitable. I propose that Horse stay here during the summer, in exchange this could be a way station for your wine trade.”  
The humans exchanged speculative glances, but ended up looking to the Gamli for a definitive gesture.  
A brief nod indicated he was amenable to the solution.  
C  
Tod's liminal power shimmered across his skin. The three cousins had gotten a hint of his auctoritas6 when he officiated at the funeral of the leman Tigurina, but his cloak had hidden much of the luminescence. Here and now, where much of his skin was bare, he seemed to grow larger and was lit by an inner light. Of course they knew that dragur could do this when they gathered their power around them, but they'd never before been privileged to see it.  
Finally the Gamli spoke.  
“Eldjárn Aeturnos, do you wish to take this woman Epasia the Smith as wife?”Horse straightened his back and raised his chin. “Epasia's family willing, that is my intent.”  
“Epasia the Smith, do you wish to take this man, Eldjárn Aeturnos as husband?” Brushing off the front of her tunic, Epasia cut her eyes at Horse and firmly stated “Eldjárn Aeturnos' family willing, that is my intent.”  
“The Gamli turned to the elder smith “Isarnomarus, are you willing for this branch of the clan of Weyland7 be joined with the Aeturni?”  
“As Weyland's spokesman here, that is our intent.”  
Weighing the truth in the souls around him, Tod added: ”As Gamli, I judge you good people, good craftsmen, and true assets to the Aeturni. I agree with this joining.”  
Horse slipped his arm around Epasia's shoulders and drew her close enough to lean on him.  
Puzzled, the elder smith drew his brows together. Why was the young Aeturnos the spokesman? Why was he addressed as Gamli? How could he be Elder? Yes, his auctoritas was formidable (was he God-touched?), but other than his tattoos he held no badge of office. His eyes shone like electrum (he must be God-touched).  
Wait and watch, watch and wait. Horse is a good man so that part would be all right.  
C  
Slapping his calloused palms down on his knees Isarnomarus told Epasia to fetch out the rest of last year's mead. “Celebrate! My girl has a new striker8 for her anvil, hah! Drink up, drink up all.” Bawdy comments were shouted as the group drank to their good fortune “Time to bed your bride lad, let's see how well you wield your hammer.”  
All chimed in with cheers and advice on proper bedding while the couple was chased up the ladder.  
The crickets held sway for only a few heartbeats before the thumping and groaning began. All clapped in rhythm as though they were setting the time for oarsmen on a barge.  
When the serious noises began the audience began to chant: go, go, go, in time with the slapping flesh.  
The grand finale arrived with a great shout followed by a squeal and a smack.  
“What'd you pinch me for then?”  
“You weren't making enough noise. Unless we make a racket they won't leave us alone.”  
C  
Laughter rolled around the small house while the mead was finished. The children had nodded off at some point and had been moved aside, wrapped in blankets, to sleep out the night  
The older smith banked the fire before reclining with his head propped on his hand. Honey bustled around a bit before she pinched out the lamps, drew a cloak around herself and curled up around the children.  
The floor was an excellent vantage point from which to watch the conversation between the bard and the Gamli (whatever he was). Usually he didn't like to mix it up with the deities' business, but with his Eppie hooking up with this group and his favorite apprentice already involved it seemed as though he had better pay attention.  
Where had he seen skin like that before? 'Twas that girl he saw when he was young, pretty sure she was a sprite. Then there was that woman, ten years ago was it? She drifted through town with the Greek trailing behind her; they were both kind of glow-y, gave him the creeps.  
At least the boy's skin had dimmed to a soft luminescence and his eyes no longer looked like bright metal, they'd resolved to a light gray. Not the gray of a broken iron ingot, closer to the hue of snow clouds.   
Tod, that's what they called him when it wasn't Gamli. It had been a bit unnerving when little Andy had made that bow to him, her brother too. Cute, but also spooky.  
Tod's eyes frequently flicked over towards the recumbent smith. The smoke bleared gaze held steady, weighing him.  
“Smith, do you have a question for me?”  
Several blinks preceded, “Maybe.” He heaved himself upright. “What are you? You have a glow about you.”  
It was Tod's turn to blink. In a rush of air that caused the sparks fly up from the embers the dragur was crouching next to Isarnomarus. “What are you, that you can see this?”  
“Weyland's kin.”  
If this man was truly one of Weyland's kin, Tod did not want to offend the God by offering violence to one of his own.   
“May I taste your blood so that I might understand?”  
The smith's eyes widened, flashing bloodshot white around the iris. “Are you incubus, then?” and his face paled “or a revenant?”  
“Neither, Weyland's kin. My maker called us night walkers, the Aeturni name me dragur. May I taste your blood?”  
The smith froze in place, perhaps even blanched further; only his eyes darted about the room looking for weapons.  
Bird jumped in: ”Here Tod, have some of mine, show the smith how it is done.”  
The dragur raised Bird's arm gently towards his mouth all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Isarnomarus'. The older man was enrapt as Tod slowly massaged the cephalic vein with his thumb, the spell broke with the soft click of his fangs and the smith twitched a little.  
Drawn to the swollen vein under his thumb, Tod neatly pressed his fangs to the proper depth all the while holding the eyes of the smith.   
After swallowing, the dragur swiped his tongue over his teeth and held out Bird's forearm for the darkly welling punctures to be examined. A lick and the bleeding stopped then he carefully demonstrated how a dab of his own blood would heal Bird's wounds.  
“Ahhhh.” The smith leaned back again. “How many things will your blood heal – will it do burns?” His mind was leaping ahead to the possible advantages of an alliance with the dragur.  
“Almost anything up to a beheading, of course some are more difficult than others, and there is a time limit....”  
Tod and Isarnomarus sighed as they permitted themselves to relax and recline on either side of the fire, ready for an in-depth discussion.  
Although sleepy, Bird picked up the mantle of instructor. “Many generations ago the women of our clan found a gravely wounded dragur. Compassionately they tended her and ancient Semni was forward thinking enough to see how this could be an advantage. Her first thought was to keep us as pets, but we were many and it was hard to maintain a hold on all of us. Slowly we all fostered a different kind of relationship and by the time she was healed (which took a very long time) we had learned much about each other. It was apparent that an affiliation could be molded to everyone's advantage.  
“Time went on, she'd missed the human life her maker had torn from her, and she enjoyed the children and companionship of an evening. Unfortunately she was also driven by her nature, made restless with the need to hunt and a taste for wild blood. The Roman drive for dominion over Gaul provided many opportunities for her to indulge her fancy. She wasn't one to turn down a good fight, either.  
“Anyway, it became our habit to celebrate the solstices together. The darkest winter was good because most people were housebound with the cold and snow, which was usually hard on our Lady. Then in high summer there wasn't enough darkness for her to be out and about. She was also old enough to rise early by that time and could safely sit with us in the shadows of the long house.  
“The children grew up playing at her feet and listening to the ancient tales she told. She healed what needed healing and eventually our dragur was there when their children were born and she rocked them,” here Bird's voice roughened, his gaze turned inward“and sang to them as she had their parents.  
“If the winter was harsh she would bring us food, if because of illness or war there were too few outlanders to sustain her we provided what she needed, if any came against us, then she fed well.  
“A decade ago our dragur was attacked and ended by a seethe of twelve wanting her feeding grounds. We sought our revenge at dawn. They were careless, we were not. The Aeturni brought final death to all twelve.  
“We were bereft without our Lady, our eldest members had been bound to her so long that they died of the shock and of broken hearts. We three were raised to the task of finding another dragur. After years of seeking we had the good fortune to find Tod. As the last generation trained by ancient Semni in the old ways, we were the only ones that had a chance; without that training the search would be too dangerous.”  
This was the first time Tod had heard an uninterrupted version of the Aeturnos' quest. Well, there had been the saga, which was layered with meaning in the old style. This straightforward account was another thing entirely. Their intentions became quite clear, it wasn't so much that they were to be his humans but that he was also to be their dragur. Oh. Something to think on. Would they have dominion over him?  
Isarnomarus brow twisted in puzzlement, “Why do you call the dragur Gamli?”  
“Because he is our elder, barring misadventure, dragur grow to be quite old. Do you know how old you are Tod?”  
“I was turned the year after Tiberius Augustus became Caesar.” He missed the frozen shock on the smith's face, he didn't really want to remember the celebrations that year; everyone seemed to want to prove themselves conquering heroes.  
The smith, by now fully grasping that the stripling before him was four times his own age, broke into his thoughts: “You need my blood to understand?” Tod brought his focus back to the old man.  
“Yes, there is much knowledge to be had in a few drops.”  
“All right, then, you may sample my blood.” Isarnomarus straightened his back and proffered his massive wrist.  
Tod repeated the preparations he had used for Bird, digging his thumb deeply into the pale ventral surface to massage between the two arm bones. The top of the smith's arm was threaded with white burn scars from his work with metal and even though the back of the man's hands writhed with fat veins it would need finesse, if the man jerked it would make a huge mess. Better and safer to use the forearm and go a little deeper.  
A touch alkali perhaps, with smoky overtones, but rich and meatily pungent with a salty savor. It was the smoke and alkali that tasted like the essential forge; yes Weyland's own. Not fae magic, but the sapor of earth.  
Tod licked the little wounds until they closed. “If the Gods are their attributes, you taste like the belly of the earth. The great forge at the heart of our world, you carry that in your veins. That is your magic.”   
Isarnomarus blinked, he was satisfied; huh, I have my own magic. I always thought there might be something lacking in the other smiths, maybe that was the missing ingredient.  
C  
Tod retreated into downtime while Isarnomarus and Bird murmured of other magics they had seen.  
He wanted to think about ancient Semni, the one who loved the Aeturni and how she would grow restless and go in search of wild blood. The blood of the red cloaked messengers certainly was wild, the flavor was jagged with fear. When 'Tura had first made him night walker she had pushed him to give into his instincts and pursue his prey. She and Corbulo would laugh and laugh at his victim's antics when they tried to escape. He never could join in that laughter, it seemed shameful to find humor in someone's misery.  
But that flavor was exquisite, it reminded him of the difference between the flesh of a fallow deer and hand raised rabbit. The same, yet worlds apart.   
The hearth fire had burned down to a few lambent coals beneath a heavy blanket of ash, the murmuring of his companions had ceased and they slept where they lay. With each exhale the old man's beard ruffled. Bird had pillowed his head on his arm.   
Restlessness stirred his belly. He rocked from side to side, one butt cheek to the other, until he was wound as tightly as a crossbow and he shot to his feet and out the door. He knew he was spun up but there were none to tell him that his eyes had gone to a narrow encirclement of silver around an impossibly wide iris, or that his face had twisted into a savage rictus.   
Tod caught himself licking his fangs which itched and ached ferociously. Like the First Lady of the Aeturni he was driven by his nature and craved the taste of wild blood. This time the only thing that had set him off was thinking of his years as a fledgling but he was determined to sate his appetites on some faex9 and not lose control. He would find ways to harness this monster.  
C  
The dragur sped north through the rain towards the nearest slum, looking for a lowlife on which to vent his irritation, someone no one would miss. By the time Tod had gotten to the outskirts of town the rain had eased to mist and it was late enough that the wine shops had long ago pulled up their counters. Dim cressets, their fuel almost expended, lit the closed doors of taverns. The last drunks steered a path along the glistening cobbles of the alleys around the occasional sodden figure.  
He had only to take his pick. The one in the gutter was indeed faeces, he did not need to stoop so low. The drunks though, promised good sport. Tod hounded them, flashing his fangs as he appeared before them, then vanishing in a whirlwind. Hanging one from a tree branch whilst chasing the other in circles. Ohhhh yes, their blood had that sapor that he craved. He still felt mischievous after he had gorged and so tossed their heads over a garden wall on his way out of town. It made sense to disguise the bite marks even though the group wouldn't be traveling back that way.  
C  
Tod was poised to return to the blacksmith's when it occurred to him that there was no reason to go back to the Aeturni. Why would he, a vampyr of two centuries, trot obediently behind humans like a loyal dog? The notion bruised his pride. That was not in his nature.  
But being night walker, no matter what his maker had said, was not part of his original nature either. When 'Tura had stolen his life, Charun, the demon of death, had not taken his spirit. He himself was still here. The dark magic had bound his anima10 to this existence.   
Right now the magic, the monster riding his soul, saw another victim. A lone carter returning from a late job, or maybe he was a link-boy11 finally getting home. No matter.  
Tod ran his hand over his belly, he was still tight as a tick from his earlier meals. That taste, his fangs extended, his groin stirred, he still craved that wild blood. There was time for one more hit from fearful prey. Get the heart pounding, the cold sweat pouring. Mmmm, a little salt on his snack too.   
He crept through the stygian alley brushing against walls, kicking a few scattered shards out of his way, vanishing every time the man whipped his head around trying to catch a glimpse of his stalker. Soon a olfactory banner of fear trailed the human. Tod inhaled to gauge the intensity of his prey's panic, easing off a bit when it seemed as though the human would bolt. Playing the stalking game that 'Tura and Corbulo loved so well.   
They adored getting the new dragur all spun up too, working him until he'd been overtaken by his appetites. They would laugh and laugh at his loss of control; they especially liked it when he'd maimed what he pursued, not knowing how to feed properly. Making the same kind of mess a baby would paddling in a bowl of porridge.   
Even though his maker pointed and snickered at the poor human's efforts to escape and Corbulo laughed at his ineptitude Tod was driven by the unrelenting thirst of a new vampyr. No matter that he wept with shame, when he was new to the dark magic he had no restraint.  
What had his nature become since then? The funeral and the marriage ceremonies had demonstrated that he was still a priest and able to reach out to the Gods. The children and the three Aeturni had proved that he could form ties to the human world. The incident that was ignited by the messengers on the road proved that his human past still vividly existed within him and tonight he'd acted out the inner monster that 'Tura had created.  
All of these things? He must think on it. Meanwhile he would leave this prey and return to the blacksmith's, he truly didn't want to disappoint his friends. Yes, his friends. It had been centuries since he'd had anyone who cared.  
C  
There was at least an hour until sunrise when Tod slipped back into the blacksmith's house. He decided to wake Honey since she'd probably had the most sleep.  
“Husssssh, Honey, it is only me”, Tod breathed, his mouth close to her cheek. “I've decided to go ahead towards the Moselle. I was out looking around and I found good access between the cliffs. It is just past Bray and a little north of where the Lehr river empties into the Rhine from the east. I will find you at sunset along the track.” Abruptly Tod reached out and pulled Honey close enough to rub his face in her hair and nibble at her ear. “I will find you tonight. Tell the children.”  
Honey smiled sleepily and offered a kiss as her eyes drifted closed again.  
C  
They were all awakened by a customer thumping on the door needing some chain repaired, it was well after sunup. Time to stir.  
Stumbling around back of the house Honey and the children went for a pee and a wash. There was a short flagged path to the bank of a narrow stream that chuckled en route to the great river. Honey and the children washed the sleep from their eyes and filled the buckets they'd brought.  
Inside, Eppie had blown the meal fire coals to life ready to reheat last night's porridge. She smiled softly as she worked, occasionally glancing at Horse.   
Horse looked more contented than Bird had ever seen him, which was an excellent thing. The pair were well wed.   
Honey swept into the room toting two buckets of water. “Go on Bird, wash and whatever. There will be food soon.” She turned to tidy up the bed rolls and arrange the packs.   
Crouching before the fire she asked: “Eppie, love, is there any milk for” her eyes got wide as she l eyed her new sister/cousin , ”... the children?”“Ooooh, nice amber necklace! Was that your morning gift?”  
Epasia ducked her head and turned as red as only the fair skinned can. “It was a surprise. She shyly kept her eyes focused on her hands. I didn't expect anything, since it was all so sudden.” I do think there is enough for a couple of mugs-full, Honey. If not, the milk man will be bringing his cows by later and we can get more.”  
Having placed the olla12 next to the fire, Honey made sure their bronze paterae13 were clean, before setting them out alongside wooden spoons. Bird was good at carving spoons, they had such a comfortable shape.  
“Horse when did you have time to get the amber?” She asked.  
“When we were in Borbetomagus, while you were busy with Marten, before we found the children. I traded some work for it.”  
“You got a good deal. That's beautiful amber.”  
“I always meant it for Eppie, I just didn't know I was going to get to see her this soon.” His smile was full warmth.  
When Bird brushed through the door and back into the room, Honey cleared her throat to catch everyone's attention.  
“Tod woke me last night to say that he was going to run ahead and would meet us near the banks of the Moselle. I think we should leave pretty soon, I'm not too sure how long it will take us to get there.”  
C  
Mixed feelings swirled around and between the group. Horse was sad to see his brother/sister/cousins go, it was heart wrenching to leave. The children were excited to be on the road again but Bucky wanted to spend more time with the wonders of the blacksmith's shop.  
The new couple made plans to visit the Aeturni after the equinox when the harvest would be done and their busy season over.   
Bird thought he would be traveling long before then and he would be sure to stop by to visit.  
It was only when they led out the donkey that Andy's excitement turned to worry. “Where my Tod?” she demanded. “We no leavin' him?”  
“No lovey, he went to look over mountain for a good place to sleep. We will see him with the new dark.” Honey was concentrating on repacking one of the pack baskets more neatly.  
“Him find uuussss?” Andala drew out the word worriedly as she rocked from foot to foot.  
“Yes lovey.”  
Horse had gotten Fortunus harnessed, Bird dragged out the baskets and the men fussed with ropes, distributing the weight evenly.   
After kissing and hugging her new in-laws, Eppie happily leaned against Horse, who wrapped his arm around her, resting his hand on her hip as he absentmindedly rubbed her flank.  
While hammering out a new link in the chain for that morning's customer Eppie had alerted her father that the Aeturni were leaving.  
Bird and Horse did the forearm grasp thing as did Isarnomarus who then leaned against the door post of his shop to see them off, saluting them with the tool he'd been using.  
%


	21. The Songbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to the sane and erudite penpractice and to the estimable J.R. Watkins for insight into the causes of blindness in children..

The Songbird  
There was naught to see but a blur, a sense of movement, a shadow amongst shadows. Neither pallor, nor reflection gleamed from the dripping darkness under the trees.  
Alders and willows met over a stream which bounded the route of the cartway up to and across the plateau that separated the Rhine and the Moselle rivers, whereupon it lost itself in a meander between scattered farmhouses and among pastures.  
Tod dug his toes into the sodden meadow. The rush of the stream in spate was loud enough to out-shout the droplets pattering the grass and to mute the chorus of frogs. He tipped his head back, not caring that the rain lashed his features, not shivered by the chill, watching the hurrying clouds, wondering if the high winds would part the tatters and make clear the last phase of the moon.  
I am free, for the first time, free of my maker, the debauched 'Tura, free of that abusive letch Corbulo. Free to fight my own battles, to shape my own existence to not be like them. He felt freedom lift his spirit.  
The Goddess was in the rain and the soil. No longer should he bow to the fertile aspect of the Lady, but he would serve her other faces. He felt more whole than he had in centuries.  
Tod stood as still as only one of the undead can stand, watching the the play of moonlight brightening and dimming behind the clouds. It was an hour or two before he shook himself and sped north and west to seek the smaller Moselle, wondering if his people would encounter more rain tomorrow, if they would need to shelter at the farmsteads, and what they would find there if they did.  
He peeled off his tunic, which clung annoyingly to his legs, before he took the time to check out the area. The river was high, but hadn't overflowed the banks. The cartway was empty but for a small soaked group of traders and slavers camped about a day's travel upstream.  
It wasn't that far to travel. Not so far that it would tire the children.  
Now to find a place to spend his day-death. Uphill, a small distance from from the cartway, there were slippages he could force his way into but it might be safer just to go to ground. Honey would be clucking like an annoyed hen if he got his tunic too muddy. Tod bundled the tunic together and drifted up into a tree to spread the cloth out on a branch. Silently he dropped to the ground and writhed deeply down amongst the roots, eventually to twist himself away from a sharp rock and into a comfortable position to await sunrise.  
⁂  
Roman roads were built to last, no standing water on them, no sir. Unfortunately the more rustic routes were not built to such exacting standards. After a good rain there was a certain amount of squish to be had.  
The children were rather chagrined to have to wear countrymen's sabots1. The clunky wooden shoes had never been needed in town. Fortunately the blacksmith's daughter had saved her old pair (it wasn't like they would wear out) and only the straps needed mending after the mice had gotten to them.  
At first it was rather fun to go clomping along but the awkward motion soon had them limping on bruised ankles.  
Poor Fortunus had to do double duty uphill while Bird and Honey hefted the extra packs. Soon enough they'd crested the last rise and paused to watch the flittering insects dart about the watery meadow.  
Since they didn't want to sit in the mud while they ate their day meal, they followed the streams back towards the well-spring at the source in hopes of finding something dry to perch on.  
A few of the clear winged lapis damselflies cruised in their wake as they slipped into the shadows of the forest that encircled the water meadow. The spring itself was surrounded by a hushed grove of vast oaks where clouds of gnats rose and fell within the fingers of sunlight that brightened the mossy ground. A few faded ribbons and rough carvings were fastened to the lower branches that reached out over the spring.  
Even the donkey stepped softly, treading on cushions of mint, and the children stopped their chatter looking around them in awe as soon as they entered the grove.  
A clump of pale primroses rising late from the moss got everyone's attention.  
“Oh, how lovely. Look at that butterfly settling down on the flowers. I heard Marten call that one Apollo's eyes. Do you know another name for it, Bird?”  
“No, but maybe it has something to do with one of the underworld Gods.” Bird thought a minute. “I did hear something...I'll tell you as we eat.” Bird took a bite of bread, chewed and swallowed, then cleared his throat.  
“Long and long ago there was a Nereid who loved things that sparkled. She would fling droplets from her spring into the air, laughing when they caught the sunlight.” Another bite of bread, chew and swallow. “One day she caught a glimpse of a gleaming golden chariot and was so enchanted that she set out to seduce the driver. Some say that the driver was Hades and some say he was Apollo. Which ever God it was, he had a jealous partner. That immortal had enough power to punish the little nymph for her presumption and so,” This time a morsel of cheese went down and a swig of ale, to moisten his throat (Bird knew well the virtue of pauses in telling a tale). “She turned the Nereid into a low creeping plant to teach her not to get above herself. But no immortal could keep our Mentha from smelling like her own sweet self.”  
Bucky wanted to know, “Why can't we know whether it was Apollo or was Hades?”  
“I'll let Honey tell you, she's the priestess. Besides,” as he rummaged in the bag, “ I want to eat some cherries now.”  
The woman sat upright, dabbed at her mouth, and cleared her throat. “First I have to do the proper thing since I've finished eating. I mustn't forget the hospitality of the spirit of the place. See I've saved out a bit of bread.” Honey turned in the direction of the spring whereupon she bowed her head and murmured thanks for the spirit's kindness as she set the bread down on one of the rocks.  
Andy was a tad perplexed. ”Wa'f a bird, it come and eeeet the bread? 'Zat bad?”  
“Who's to say that isn't what the spirit wanted to happen? What I see are the signs all around us. The mint underfoot is Hades' own herb, it is always used when we send souls off to the underworld. That is why we put a sprig a mint in with your mother. But on the other hand this is not a dark place, not inside a cave nor filled with gloom, see how the sun reaches down to the moss and the butterfly called Apollo is here slowly revealing and hiding the eye spots on the wings. So which God is it? Both light and dark are needed.  
Both are here.”  
⁂

After they had eaten and Fortunus had grazed a little, the children decided to try walking a while. Packs were hefted and they swung back onto the cartway through the last bit of the water meadow. The path worked its way down off the plateau accompanied by a slight trickle plashing down towards the river. This land was better drained and the last farm even had a field of flax blooming prettily.  
Honey measured the field with a discerning eye, she hoped their own crop would be as good but they really did need more hands at the spinning. Andy wouldn't be old enough to help for a few years yet and several aunties had the arthritis so couldn't do the fine spinning anymore. That only left Bilia and Iomara; and Bili's baby had come early and so needed constant attention.  
They'd lost so many people when they'd gone west to escape the Romans. Their ancients had told the stories of the hard trek and miserable winter that followed. The hardship had killed many.  
Then, after their Lady had met her final death, there had been a couple of really bad years. Wet, cold summers meant the crops rotted in the fields. Their people starved, and many of the ancients, weakened by hunger, were carried off by illness, so much knowledge gone. Misery ruled their part of Gaul and the lower sections of Germania. The men traveled far to buy grain, but oftentimes the only things they brought back were new illnesses. Then the children died. They had depended on Ancient Semni's help for strength and healing for too long.  
Goddess willing, things would be better. So many babies gone, it near broke her heart as much as the pain of the elders did. Honey knew it was the way of things, but she could do just so much and no more.  
Not to think about this now, it was time to pay attention to the switchbacks or she was going to land on her butt.  
Bird had cut staves for the two of them, which they used to brace themselves against the wet slope. Honey was amazed at the nonchalant surefooted-ness of the ass as she watched Fortunus' hooves clatter amongst the speckled gravel. He snorted as if to say But of course, I am Fortunus, born to traverse these rocky slopes. Wisely, Buck and Andala held onto his harness to steady themselves.  
After three switchbacks, the pines and beeches opened up enough to give glimpses of the shining river.  
Although Buck grimly marched forward, Andy flagged, gripping the the donkey's girth more and more tightly. Bird thought it might be the right time for a little rest once they had gotten to the bottom of the slope. It was good that hills on the flanks of the Moselle were less steep than the escarpments facing the Rhine.  
Digging out the rest of the packet of cherries, Honey offered them to the children. She and Bird had a few sips of water to counteract the panting they had been doing on the way down.  
Andy's eyes were dull with fatigue and Buck's chest was heaving. It was still a few hours before sunset and Bird thought it might be smart if they could get a fix on Tod's position. He'd wait until Andy perked up before asking her to locate him. Amazing girl.  
⁂  
Speaking softly Honey and Bird decided that they had less than a day's journey ahead of them but they would have to go upstream, above Fish island, before they could cross and they shouldn't attempt that until tomorrow. It would be better to wait until they could see where they were going. Andy had toppled over and slept with her head in Honey's lap, Buck lay back with his arms tucked behind his head and watched maple leaves as they stirred in the afternoon breeze. Crickets and birds had taken up their songs, but not so loudly that Bird wasn't alerted by the gruff shouts of men coming towards them from the west.  
Oh! Great Goddess! Fortunus decided comments and greetings were necessary. He was sure even Tod in his day death heard the strident braying! What a racket.  
The mules, it sounded like there were at least three coming in their direction, just had to answer and the humans caught between were practically deafened.  
Bird scrambled down slope to see what had the ass all stirred up. Five heavily laden mules had braced their legs and refused to move until they had finished exchanging comments with the donkey. The two-bit trader and the mule drover looked as though they were about to have fits – both red in the face and whipping at the mules hindquarters. The mules were getting more and more irascible at the interference, until finally, the lead jenny turned and snapped at the drover. Bird had never seen a mule give anyone such an evil look. Give that animal half a chance and she would have her revenge.  
He looked back at Fortunus and swore the jack was laughing.  
Honey slithered down the remaining slope and came to stand alongside Bird while Buck patted little Andy to soothe her from her startled sobs.  
“Oh, hai, what do you carry?” Bird stepped into his role of masculine protector. Honey was content to modestly peer around his shoulder but nonetheless loosened her belt knife in its sheath. The strangers caught the children's attention immediately and they cautiously withdrew into the undergrowth. Smart.  
The older trader was thin with a rather long droopy nose and lank hair straggling from beneath his wide brimmed traveler's hat. With the appearance of potential customers he suddenly became the fawning tradesman, spinning a long tale about the quality of the tin he carried – from his contacts amongst the Belgae; and the fineness of the sea salt (not that characterless block stuff) carefully harvested from the shores of the storm churned ocean to the west.  
Honey perked up at the mention of salt, slipped out from behind Bird and asked to see it. The mule drover, rather the opposite of the trader, younger, rotund, with closely cropped red hair and a crimson face, hustled to pull down one of the waterproofed packs. His face was so terribly red, maybe he'd lost his hat somewhere.  
Tasting a smackerel of the salt, Honey was satisfied with the quality. She and the trader began to dicker a mutually satisfactory deal for 20 libera's worth2. She was able to entice the tall trader with the further possibility of business – should he come back their way. It seemed as though his price was a smidge better than could be had in Confluentes. Like any good housewife she ruefully regretted not picking up salt when they were further south where it was probably cheaper, but that would have meant lugging it all this way and keeping it dry. No, this was better.  
Meanwhile Bird had wandered back along the road to check out the coffle of slaves lurking at the tag end of the line. He couldn't imagine what purpose such a small string had. There had been no conflict, this area was pretty free from bandits, that only left debtors as a source and a puny lot the venalicus3 had garnered. Except for the one girl on the end. She was pretty, and whistling softly, catching Bird's curious ear.  
He stood there, his head cocked to one side, listening to a wood thrush echo her whistle, absorbed in the mystery. The other slaves were so exhausted that they sat quietly, cheek by jowl, with their heads on their knees, the chain clanking dolefully every time one stirred.  
Still watching the menage of characters, Bird saw the slaver emerge from the bushes adjusting his clothes, having answered a call of nature. A low growl reverberated to his left. Ooops he'd been thinking about the girl and hadn't noticed the guard and his rather nasty looking dog. What an odd color, such a dark gray coat, it plainly showed a network of cris-crossed scars. The dog and his owner looked like a pair of aging gladiators. The venalicus swaggering in his direction was no prettier with a long unclean mustache in the Celtic style, an even more unclean tunic and a chipped gilt belt buckle.  
“You looking to buy, citizen? No health problems here,” he said, sweeping his hand in a narrow arc. “Perhaps a pretty pony to ride? Natural blonde that one, you can always sell her hair for an additional profit. Keep her healthy and you can get children and a good length of hair every couple of years. The price for naturally blonde hair has gone way up in Rome, very popular for wigs. Only 50 silver. You, girl. Stand up. Let the citizen inspect the goods.”  
Muttering under his breath “Citizen, my ass!” Bird regretted his curiosity and cursed the pandering midden-rat of a slaver. Needs must – if I'm to satisfy my curiosity I'll have to play a part.  
“Unhook her from the coffle you idiot. How am I supposed to see anything when she is all crowded up against the rest of your flea bitten stock? Honey, d'ya have a moment? Come see if this one is healthy.”  
Curious as to what he was up to, Honey moved passed the mules to take a look at Bird's find. Really strange, he's not usually that interested in girls, I wonder what caught his eye? Don't want to give his game away whatever it is.  
“Take off your shift girl, then open your mouth.” Honey sniffed to check for bad breath and digestive ailments and then examined her teeth; felt under her arms and small breasts for lumps.  
“Bend over.” Spine good, bruises, not good.  
“You've used her hard, you rotted dog's pizzle. And what's wrong with her eyes?”  
“She can see just fine! Just a little cloudiness there.” Stringy mustache was such a weasel. “Can't do any close work but she can see just fine. That's why I'm willing to let her go for cheap.”  
At that Honey got her dander up, suddenly she looked less like a meek woman and more like one of the Goddess’s hell-cats.  
Bird crossed his arms and smiled to himself, so glad I'm not the target.  
“Street slime, you might want to consider paying someone to take her off your hands. Not only did you pop her cherry – which would have been one of her main selling points, but now she is damaged goods and too young to breed.” Turning on her heel Honey started back towards their donkey. “I don't know what attracted your pea brain, or was it your cock, brother, but I'm ready to move on.”  
Those on the river road couldn't see Honey's face as she started back up the slope, but she made a quick shuushing gesture in the children's direction and flashed them a smile. Quickly Bucky pulled his sister back up against him and shhhhhed in her ear. Andala looked a little worried but sat quietly.  
The slaver was on pins and needles his eyes darting back and forth between the dispirited girl standing prickled with goose bumps and the potential buyers. He had been hasty, or rather drunk, and he'd told himself that the bruises would have faded enough so that he could still pass her off as a virgin by the time they got to the city.  
“Brother, don't forget what is important, we've paid for the salt.”  
“Ahhh honored matron, obviously a woman of discernment, you manage your household thriftily. Perhaps I can offer you a bargain.” He turned to look at Bird, who hastily smoothed his features. “And you citizen, maybe not a virgin but an attractive bed warmer and useful in other ways. Girl! Tell these good people of your skills! What is your name anyway?”  
The last time she'd been slow to answer the slaver he'd punched her so hard her ears had rung for days.  
The words came tumbling out, “I am called Aia. I can spin and card wool, I can clean and scrub, sift flour and knead bread, tend children and make baskets.” every bit of the spiel the slavers had beaten in to her.  
Reluctantly Honey turned back towards the traders. “Ordinary stuff then, I would like to know what happened to your eyes. Were you born that way?” She hoped it wasn't something that could be passed on.  
“I was very small and there came a big wind. There was a fire where we lived and we ran outside but the wind blew the fire and ash everywhere. The ash blew in my face and stung . I was too young to know not to rub my eyes. The hot ash burned and then I couldn't see. It got a little better after a while, but I never could see clearly again.”  
Bird interrupted, “Were you born a slave?” those duplicitous habits would die hard.  
“No, citizen. After my mother died there were none to see to a marriage for me, my mother's cousins couldn't be bothered. I was sold for back taxes.” Lifting her chin, Aia indicated the slaver. “He bought me from the taxman.”  
Honey wanted her suspicions confirmed. “Do you know how old you are?”  
“I think I'm fourteen summers.”  
Whap! “I told you to say sixteen!”  
The girl was on the ground, holding her ear, tears of pain starting from her eyes.  
The slaver looked like he wanted to kick her too, fidgeting with his feet and huffing into his greasy mustache.  
“See brother, I told you she was too young to breed!” Turning back towards the slaver.  
“She'll be worthless if she is pregnant. She's too young to bear safely and she'll get all ripped up if she tries to deliver a babe of any size. We'll offer twenty silver, plus we want the usual six month's guarantee! If I didn't need another spinner I wouldn't go that high.”  
Blustering but trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “She'll have no problems, take my word for it. My own sister delivered her first child when she was sixteen!”  
“We'll take your word for it, if there is a written guarantee. Six months!” Honey moved closer to the girl and gently nudged her with her foot. “Her hips haven't even filled out and barely any tits on her.”  
Startled, Aia looked at Honey, she hadn't expected the touch to be so gentle. There was more going on here than she expected.  
“How long have you had your hands on her anyway?”  
Now the venalicus was even more confused, counting on his fingers. “A five-day, I think.”  
“Alright, in that case a double guarantee. One full year. Either that or let me see that your genitals are free from disease. C'mon, drop 'em now or deal.”  
“Let me see the money first.”  
A musical chink alerted them to Bird's unburdening of his purse and counting out ten silver.  
Eyes lit up at the sight of the shiny silver argenti tumbling into her brother's hand. As quickly as the silver had appeared, it vanished as Bird closed his fist around it.  
“Well?”  
Stiffly the man tucked his tunic under his chin and unfastened his subligaculum.  
“Eh! Turn to the light, I can't see anything!”  
The other men started to hoot and make lewd comments. To compensate the slaver shoved his hips towards Honey.  
“Don't you wave that dirty thing at me, it'll be a wonder if she didn't catch something. Not the drip though.”  
Bird spoke up: “Your verdict, sister?”  
“Ten silver with a six month guarantee – in writing!”  
Looking like he'd just won something, the venalicus announced that that was patently impossible. “There is no scribe, you'll just have to take my word for it.”  
“That's all right, we can do it.” Honey bustled over to Bird's pack and rummaged around until she found his writing case.  
“Here you go, brother.”  
The slaver's face went from gloat to appalled in a heartbeat.  
⁂  
Honey and Bird smiled happily as the mules and the slavers moved off downstream. Aia, looking shocked at the sudden change in her circumstances, just sat blinking.  
Finally, testing the waters, she offered congratulations on getting such a good deal. “He paid twelve silver for me five days ago when the tax man only really needed to get seven. Hummmpf.” She didn't get slapped for speaking up, so that was good.  
⁂  
Sitting back down with a sigh Honey beckoned the children out of the brush. “You were sooo good, thank you. That was really smart to get out of the way and stay quiet.”  
Buck nodded solemnly, “Mama taught us this, when there were ruffians about, to hunker down and stay quiet.”  
“Dike mice, itty bitty, quiet.” Andy's head bobbed in agreement.  
“Yes, you had a very smart mama.”  
“What about Tod, Andy? Do you have a sense of where he is?”  
“Oh, yessss, we sittin' on him.”

⁂


	22. Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the river, and up the mountain the travelers finally reach home. Will their family accept Tod? What of the children?

Welcome  
The gray heron's goal this evening was to roost amongst the clattering beaks and sussurant feathers of her sedge. Her breast's reflection floated on the still bright water as she glided towards the rookery, the after glow and the ripples sending tangles of argent light shimmering back into the trees. She wasn't at all curious about the mixed bag of of humans and pack animals on the river's shore.  
Clustered looking out over the river, the five humans were similarly limned with reflections. They were separately flavored with assorted moods: anxious, tired, curious, even fearful. The donkey seemed to be the only creature merely waiting.  
The train of mules blew and whuffed as their larger group shambled eastward. The hastening beat of clanking chains and chinking harness rang their eagerness to get to a caupona, the humans wanted to put their feet up and forget their vagabond life. A little wine, a little song, then they could face tomorrow.  
Ergo bibamus, ne sitiamus, vas repleamus!  
qisque suorum posteriorum sive priorum  
sit sine cura morte futura re peritura  
ergo bibamus.

Alas, let's drink, not thirst any longer, refill our mug  
Every single one should be without worries about his future or past,  
because of the coming death, all will perish.  
Alas, let's drink.  
C  
Aia was both worried and resigned; the worry squeezing her chest, had she tumbled off the griddle and into the coals? The slaver's abuse had been bad enough, although when she'd been sold she'd expected it. As long as her mother had been alive Aia had hopes for a decent marriage but after she'd coughed her life away last winter Aia resigned herself to a bleak fate and there was no point crying about any of it.  
During the time she hauled slops and scrubbed laundry for her uncle's family she knew it would be only a matter of time before her they'd try to wring some income out of her fresh beauty. Her aunts all looked old by the time they reached their third baby and second decade.  
So, the five sat waiting in the dusk, listening to the trader's rough voices fade into the distance as they continued east. Aia didn't know what they were waiting for – someone? Tod? Were the children sitting over there waiting for Tod? Sitting meant not walking, which was good, if there were some food on offer it would be better. Gradually she let her head droop in a half doze. It was always better to rest when you could.  
The three adults roused to the little girl's imperious prattle "My Tod, you get up now! You 'wake! Quit be'n lazy. You come out!" With which Andy slapped the ground. Twice.  
Aia thought there was something weird about a child arguing with a damp patch of ground and a tree root. Very weird. No one else thought it strange, Honey and Bird (were those their names?) smiled fondly at the child's antics her brother seemed interested, as though something might actually happen.  
Even though she'd been alerted to the potential, the girl screamed shrilly when a grimy hand wormed up from the earth and seized the child's ankle. Great Goddess she had fallen in with monsters. Aia did try to scramble backwards. Bird's hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist before she could run. Each exhale became a scream as she flung herself about, terrified.  
She didn't even hear a voice quietly ask Bird to shut her up.  
“I’m so glad I don't get headaches now– because that noise would certainly give me one.  
Aia's head whipped around to see who was speaking. A very muddy youth stood close by with the girl-child clinging to his bedaubed thigh. His silvery eyes caught her and held her fast while she calmed and thought: Well if that is the worst today has to offer I can manage. Nicely built, with or without the tattoos. Mmmm, smoothly muscled, no stringy starveling. None of them were. Yes, I can manage.  
“My Tod, you wash. Me too.”  
“Take your dress off, little bit and your panties, then we'll go in. Tch, let me help.”  
Andy was trying to walk and undress at the same time and looked near to tying herself into a knot.  
Tod pitched the clothes in Honey's direction and swung the girl-child up to his hip as he walked into the river.  
Aia wasn't much of a swimmer and felt a little panic as the child was carried deeper into the water. But the calm that Tod had laid upon her held. Everyone seemed to be alright with it.  
The boy jumped up eager to join his sister and begged Bird to be permitted to get wet.  
“Not for long, we have to move on. A little water won't hurt you though.”  
Buck stripped and jumped into the river and enthusiastically waded after Tod and his sister, aiming on a diagonal to catch up quickly. One moment he was there, the next he'd vanished.  
There was a stunned moment as she stared at the widening ripples where he had been been, before Honey shrieked “Buck, get Buck, he must have slipped.”  
Bird and even Aia rushed to the water's edge to look for the boy. Tod spun frantically around, quickly putting Andy's hand on her nose and shouting “Big breath!” before diving under the surface, the girl still on his arm. There was a moment of stillness, the swirls and eddies of the river's dark movement hiding any sign of those under its surface before exploding from the current with a sputtering Andy, Tod repeated “Big breath, again!” and vanished once more. This time he surfaced with a flailing Buck over his arm who proceeded to spew up half the river. Andy sneezed repeatedly.  
“My man, I think it is time for you to learn to swim.” Tod's calm words were contradicted by the lingering panic in his eyes . “Next time hold your breath.” Andy sneezed again and Buck coughed and sneezed also. Both children were red in the face and snotty. Honey and Bird muttered thanks to the Goddess and Aia sank to the ground with a sigh.  
“Alright, wash your faces, get the snivels off.” A child on each arm, Tod waded to shore and handed them up to Honey and Bird before he pushed off backwards to finish his ablutions.  
Tching the adults roughly dried the children, thankful for the clear sky and light from the waning moon.  
“Hungry, hungry, izzer bread?”  
Aia perked up her ears at that, hoping they would spare some food, yet understanding that they hadn't planned on her being there. Honey evenhandedly doled out chunks of yesterday's bread – stale though it was, and a nubbin of cheese. Oddly the man in the river sought none; well, all the more to share up here.  
While gnawing the last bit of bread Aia squinched her eyes to watch him amuse himself, disappearing periodically and popping up at a distance. Much more impressive when he wasn't muddy. Smoothly thewed, none of the gnarled joints nor corded muscle of the hardened laborer. If it weren't for the tattoos she thought he would look like one of the young aristocrats that lived in the new villas that were cropping up along the river. She could tell how young he was because although his body hair was dark it certainly hadn't crept out to form the full pelt of a grown man. Not that you could tell on a Roman since they were apt to remove much of it.  
Aia's uncles had gossiped after they'd gone to check out the new baths in town. They'd overheard the patrons talking about one of their number who affected removing all of his body hair and snorted that he was probably harking back to his salad days when he was a patrician's favored bum boy. Those times would not come again, even his balls sagged and were showing his age. She shuddered and hoped that she wouldn't be dragged into any Roman perversions. Although, as a female, she was probably safer than that boy who'd fallen in the river. From what she'd heard from the slavers, pretty little boys were a particular favorite in the whorehouses.  
C  
Fortunus had been helping himself to browse and tufts of grass springing alongside the road. Bird'd even led him down to the river for a drink. Now he was mooching around looking as though he was ready to settle for the night.  
“Eh, eh, eh, master jackass. Time for us to get back on the road.” Fortunus seemed to understand what Bird was saying or even better, Honey's actions, bumping the pack baskets in his direction, and let out a long disconsolate bray. “Not that much further then you'll have that harness off and can have a good roll.”  
Aia wasn't about to stand up until she had to, her feet were still killing her. So she listened and hummed along with Bird's whistle while he slung the baskets into place atop the donkey then turned to watch Honey crouch down to fasten the children's shoes.  
Mytod, or was it just Tod, had emerged from the river and dried himself with the cloth the children had used. He was so pale that his skin glimmered like the inside of a clam shell, inking those tattoos into sharp relief. He was paler even than that albino dwarf that had been dancing in the square. Poor thing, they treated him worse than the dog that was part of the act.  
Oh, he caught her watching and turned his head towards her, trapping her gaze again. Aia was quickly snared by the oddity of his eyes intensifying their silvery hue. There was nothing to wonder about there, no need to be curious, he was perfectly ordinary.  
Honey bustled over with a heap of fresh clothing and immediately began to fuss over him, retrieving a comb from her belt pouch to tidy his hair, settling his tunic smoothly, then reaching around his middle to fasten a handsome belt. Every motion signaled proprietorship to Aia. Message received, she wouldn't dare trespass.  
Bird seemed to take no interest in the little byplay but still took the opportunity to rub the tattooed youth's back as he walked by. Tattoo welcomed the attention of both but frowned at Bird's retreating back.  
Hmmmm, interesting. Aia made it a habit to read people's posture and broad gestures since the details were so vague to her. That might have made her more perceptive than most. It certainly had kept her out of trouble. She knew full well when it was time to make herself scarce.  
Again, Honey spoke earnestly to Tattoos, resting her hand on his arm. He shook his head and gestured with his chin up slope. She frowned and waved her hand back upstream, he nodded, she nodded, they parted. Aia couldn't make heads nor tails of it.  
She hauled herself to her feet, ooof, with the general movement of the group up-river. Aia blinked rapidly, her tired eyes gritty. Tattoos had vanished and she hadn't noticed when.  
It didn't matter so much that it was dusk, the open arc of the sky over the river was still lucent with the after glow and there was enough moonlight reflecting from the water to travel by.  
C  
Tod wasn't thrilled by the addition to their group. She was a slave, and slaves were an untrustworthy lot. He should know; ohhhh, the mayhem he would have created if he had been pushed any further. He'd heard stories and seen the results, Romans were big on punishments that could all be described as fates worse than death. The mines. Amazing if you lasted six months. That would be the best prospect. But every chance he got to sabotage, sicken or slack off, he took with glee. Besides Bird preferred men, he should know. What impulse had seized the bard, buying that girl? Well she was easy to glamour, so that was something.  
Honey helped him to dress, making sure his tunic hung properly, it reminded him of the women helping his father, the Apa to dress before he met with others of rank. It made him feel – what? Cherished? Yes. Important in and of himself? No, – but as though the place he held in their lives was important. His flight of fancy spun out, if he had lived to be the Apa he would have stood square between the great carved posts of the door to his hall, Bird would be at his side as his adviser and Honey would have stood at his shoulder backing him with her authority. Fuck! Never, never, never, never, NEVER!  
He sped off to relieve his temper on some poor sot.  
C  
He flickered in and out of sight of the patrons at one of the small traveler’s stops a few moments quick flight west. He'd found a couple of drovers who were returning from market, beefy guys, well able to spare a draught or two. Strangely unsatisfying.  
His belly was full but he felt a little at loose ends. Maybe he should have killed them? They were too nasty to be fuckable, he had developed some standards.  
Tod kicked at stones as he wandered back downstream. His mouth was set for something but he couldn't decide what.  
At a loss he lifted up and did a few loop-de-loops.  
Then scooping up a stick he flew within a hairsbreadth of the treetops, flailing at the branches as he went, laughing at the startled birds. Nope, that didn't do it either. His mouth twisted with frustration.  
Finally he chose to drift backwards watching the fading gleam of the setting sun on the river until he felt his people were near.  
C  
A wraith in the shadows, one minute he wasn't there, the next the glimmer of his skin caught Honey's attention.  
“Oooof. You just love to startle us, don't you? Just in time I must say, we are right at the ford. Would you carry the children? Those stones are slippery.”  
Bird was coaxing the donkey to follow him down the ramp into the river. They'd packed the salt topmost, wrapped in oiled leather. Honey would be so pissed if water got at it.  
The balky problem was solved when Honey smacked Fortunus smartly on his rump and he lept forward before he turned his gaze back on her – all flattened ears and affronted dignity.  
Aia was frightened of the crossing:”Mistress, I can't see that clearly and I can't swim, what if I slip?”  
“Tch, don't worry, it is quite shallow and well maintained. This is only dangerous in winter or after a big storm. Why don't you hold on to the donkey's harness to steady yourself.”  
Honey firmly supported Aia down the bank and while she slip-slid across the stones on the river bottom until her hand could grab on to the harness ropes.  
“There you go, just hang on.” After a moment, Aia could look ahead to Bird leading the donkey and MyTod carrying the children. Except he wasn't walking. Whatever he did was smooth, was he in a boat? No, she was afraid again. She remembered thinking he might be a monster when he did something odd before, but she couldn't quite remember what it was that he had been doing. Oh, her household gods couldn't protect her here and those were the only ones she was really familiar with. Perhaps one of the great goddesses would take pity on her. Even a small god would be a comfort.  
Aia knew she was afraid, she just couldn't remember why, which was even more frightening. She followed the group dumbly as they climbed the stony slope on the north bank. No one would help her, she had nowhere to go. She heaved a deep breath, tried to square her frail shoulders and kept on.  
Bird passed the lead rope to Honey and pulled one of his pipes out to tootle a happy beat for them. Soon he dropped back to walk beside Aia, she couldn't help setting her feet and bobbing her head in time with the melody. After a while she began a wordless counterpoint. Bird seemed pleased.  
The path must have been obvious to Tod since he swung easily along, a child on each arm. He was talking about the rising path and the encroaching hills, every once in a while a word or or two would float back. Snow he mentioned once or twice. It seemed as though he was commenting to them about how high his home mountains were and the great horned Ibexes bounding from crag to crag. Buck loved the stories and Andy was wide eyed.  
It was about at the hour mark before Honey first got a whiff of woodsmoke. Of course Tod had been aware of it for a while. “We are almost there Bird!” Excitement and fatigue strained Honey's voice. The scent of smoke was a sure thing. They were burning cherry and some cedar. Home!  
In a huddle Honey checked the children over, smoothing Andy's hair, brushing Buck's tunic and making sure their shoes were tied. Turning towards Aia, she gestured with her head and made little shooing motions with her hands to indicate that she was to see to Bird and herself. Finally Honey attended to Tod – brusquely batting at the back of his tunic, pulling the shoulders straight, settling his belt. She had gone too far when she licked her finger and attempted to smooth his eyebrows.  
At that point he batted her hand away “Enough, woman.” He remembered his father saying just that thing and he smiled to himself as he turned away.  
In good order then Bird led the way up the last bit of path to a small plateau cleaved from the side of the old mountain to the large thatched roofed buildings clustered in its shelter.  
There was the sound of scampering feet in the deepest shadows. The corners of Tod's mouth twitched. As soon as they got close, the great door in the main house swung open. The firelight from within laid lambent patterns on its boards and the stones of the portico. The humans rearranged themselves, Tod was startled to find himself in a reprise of his fantasy. Bird set himself on his left, Honey a half step behind his right shoulder, Andy just in front, clinging to the hem of his tunic and Buck's left hand firmly held by Honey's right. Tod stood as tall as he could.  
A youth scurried out and set a filled brazier to the right of the door. A barely pubescent girl, her linen shift swirling around her ankles, followed with her hand cupped around a lit spill and carefully introduced flame to the fuel. Before the new blaze could do more than flicker the young people had ducked into the shadows on the other side of the door, their wide eyes gleaming as the licking fire grew to a dancing light on their smooth faces. The sound of crickets swelled to fill the silence.

Three silhouettes moved hesitantly into the open doorway; the first was rounded, perhaps hunched; the second dragged one limb; the third was still tall but walked stiffly. Stepping through the door frame into the portico brought their features into the light.  
Ancient. The first hunched figure was absolutely ancient. Her face seamed and riven by so many years and so many wrinkles that she might be a leather purse holding the treasures of their past.  
The center form was a terribly crippled male. Some misfortune had crushed his left side pulling one shoulder up along his neck and twisting his leg out of true. A miracle anyone survived such a calamity.  
The last person stood straighter, her posture rigid but with an air of discomfort.  
There were others, indistinct, small and large, crossing back and forth between the interior hearth and the foreground.  
Bird stepped forward a half pace and extended his arm towards Tod whilst bowing to the figures on the portico.  
“Honored Elders, we have brought you fortune. We have brought a priestly dragur to join with us. May I present Tod, Raetii near Curia, son of the Apa Samognatus, initiate of the Goddess, formidable warrior and good friend.” Crickets filled the pause.  
“We have also fostered two children, apparently of Tod's lineage, in good health and with excellent aptitudes.” Whereupon Bird drew Buck and Andy forward to be introduced.  
“First I want you to meet Aeturnus Helicon, by-named Buck. I also want you to meet,” Bird made a long arm to bring forth Andy, “Aeturna Andala, often called Andy.”  
In a harsh whisper Honey instructed the children to “Make your manners.”  
Quickly Buck and Andy placed their hands together and bowed, barely completing the salutation before scuttling back behind Honey.  
All the while Tod stood there, as still as only one of the undead can be, watching the Elder's eyes flick towards the children then back to fix on him. He had not been under such scrutiny since he and Artos had been hauled before the Apa and Tarvorix for tipping cows one restless midnight. Ohhhh that had been a beating to remember. Well, he had learned how to stand and let nothing penetrate, he just wouldn't think about how he'd learned it, only that he had.  
“The children come with an inheritance from their father, a soldier of the Cohors II Raetorumc.R., also Raetii, from up near the pass in the Gray Alps.”  
Tod's stomach clenched at that, he hadn't gotten that bit of information before. Not only did the children look like him, but their father might have come from the same mountain face. I'll never know for sure, but they might-could be. Mine. Blood kin.  
He snapped back to the present with the realization that the eldest human was speaking to him, her rheumy eyes had never left his face.  
“Have you, Tod, son of Samognatus, priest of the Raetii, accepted our offer to become the Sword of the Aeturni?”  
So quickly they came to the point, so blunt – perhaps given human frailty she had no time for platitudes. He had already decided this.  
“Yes, I, who calls himself Tod, a son of Samognatus and ordained priest of the Raetii, will take my place as the Sword of the Aeturni.”  
“And have you, Tod, son of Samognatus, priest of the Raetii accepted us, the human heart of the Aeturni, as your shield, your anchor, and your home?”  
“Yes I have.”  
“Will you, Tod, accept our blood and grant us yours?”  
“I will.” Thankfully Bird had warned him about this or he would have been flummoxed.  
“Please approach us.” They extended their hands prayerfully and Tod caught a glimpse of gold. Gold? What would they be doing with gold?  
Tod stepped closer and bowed his head respectfully. The eldest held out a substantial chain of gold supporting a fearsome medallion and lifted it over his head (she could barely reach) and rested it on his shoulders.  
“This was Ancient Semni's we, recovered it from the seethe that ended her. It is the ceremonial sigil of the Aeturni.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and love to the ever patient penpractice.  
> To hear Bird's tune you can either watch this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X83IYWmcEFg&feature=share&list=PL0E352DF381AFB593 or go to You Tube playlist for Parallex.


	23. An Old Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tod rests at the mountain home of the Aeturni. What part is he to play in the lives of these people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thanks go to penpractice and Aspis for their support during this chapter.   
> As always the illustrations are posted on WordPress and I am looking for a way to post the Family Tree for the Aeturni.

An Old Beginning

  
  


He woke in the warm shadows, although it seemed more dim than dark to him. Sounds. Whispers. The clatter of pottery and muffled voices echoing within his chamber, even the brush of fabric. Under that the muted thunder of heartbeats and sussurant sound of air passing in and out of lungs provided a harmonic continuo. 

Focusing, he could pick out the soothing cadences of familiar voices, tease those threads apart from the unknown, follow the currents of conversation.

There was a ribbon of an unknown rumble, deeper than Bird's, a quavering elder, the hiccuping cry of a fretful baby; over it all girl voices and the rapid punctuation of a clapping game.

  
Stella ella ola  
Supra, caio, cae.....  
Puellulae, cas, cas, cas …...  
Dicunt quod sic, sic, sic  
Valorae, valorae, omnia chorea   
unus, duo, tres, quattuor, quinque, sex, septem! 

 

_The star is in the bowl_

_Resting on the wall_

_Girls bend and sway, bend and sway_

_They say: yes... yes... yes..._

 

“No, no, no – other hand. We do opposites now.”

 

_Quickly, quickly, every...one... dance_

_one, two, three, four, five, six, seven!_

  
  


He could hear his Andy's voice as part of the chant, it had the same rhythm as the one he'd heard from the goat-girls. In all this time the rhyme really hadn't changed much.

Tod shouldered more deeply into the linen bedding to learn as much about the strangers' voices as he could. The strangers' habits. The strangers' everything.

Whilst committing to memory all the sounds and echoes of the great room he dropped his jaw and lifted his upper lip to pull the scents across the sensitive membranes that he'd gained along with his fangs; an added dimension to his understanding.

Food odors drifted in the air, but the night-meal must have been cooked outside, the smoke scent clinging to everything was cold. Oil burning in the lamp, no, lamps. Cold ashes and charred wood, musty furs, dog, oiled wool and last year's bedding. The only thing out of the ordinary was the scent of people, reasonably clean.

Now that Honey was back with Aia to help, he had a feeling that it wouldn't be too long before the the musty furs and last year's bedding was turned out and beaten into submission. 'Mara and Bili had their hands too full to take on the spring clean by themselves. 

Maybe he and some of the others could go hunting. That was always the wisest course when the women set to the yearly purge....his mind drifted for a while on the currents of his memory and senses.

When he decided to rest here he knew that he was risking his existence on a cast of the runes, on trusting that the Goddess or fate had led him aright. He was ready for that, ready for anything, he'd spent years begging the Goddess for an end, the centuries that 'Tura had her claws in him. 1

He'd gone to his day-rest knowing the result would be either an end or a new beginning. These people _could_ have ended him, he wasn't even sure he would have realized what was happening. So, a new beginning.

Be that as it may, it was time for the formal meet and greet. He wasn't even sure how this would shake out, he would start with what he knew for certain. The clan seemed to believe him to be their dragur, come to lift them from their slide into a cold hell, or whatever heroic intervention they expected from him.

Fuck it, he was (according to his Uncle Cat) born to be a priest and by the Goddess he would stay a priest, no matter what their expectations.

He'd heard Andy whisper to Honey “He's awake.” _Alright then, showtime_!

The clan had provided him with the best of everything, an abundance of plump down pallets and pillows furnishing the great carved box-bed2. There'd been one like it at home where his mother used to tuck him for a nap. With the carved doors closed it was dark and quiet and warm even in winter. He always felt wonderfully safe. 

Pushing himself upright, Tod shoved aside the tangle of bolsters and feather beds, taking a moment to rake his hair into better order before he pushed open the bed-stead. His fingers found holds in the carvings on the frame as he arched his back and swung his legs out onto the fine chest that made a convenient step-bench before pulling his tunic straight and looking around.

The ornate bed and bench had pride of place facing the narrow end of the meal hearth and beyond that the main door of the great room. 

Lining the walls and between each of the great staves supporting the roof were platforms, each furnished with bedding and hung about with weapons or personal tools. More than half of them yawned empty or were used for storage.

The carvings were different but the hearth was the same. He and his friend little Bear had learned to walk holding on to benches like those while someone kept an eye on their adventures.

Some clansmen had chosen to embellish their snugs with fanciful woodwork along the edge rails and the bright eyes of small children peeped over the incised hounds and the tails of dragons. 

Of course he knew full well how many were there in the main house, he even knew what they'd had for dinner and approximately where they sat. Now to attach the faces and names to the scents and voices.

Honey and Bird approached him first, pressing their fingers together they bowed before pulling Andy and Buck to the fore, so they could make their bows. The four said good rising Gamli.

The eldest of the family, supported by a pair of milky young women (they both smelled sweetly of milk and their nurselings) presented herself next. “I am Nemeta, the fire-tender.

These are our grand-daughters:Bilia and Iomara” All three bowed, ceremonial knives swinging freely from their necks, and wished him good rising. The women helped her back to her seat two niches away.

The crippled man and the stiff-jointed older woman made their way alongside the hearth, introducing them selves as Verna, tree-born and Cunorix, hound-king, moving on to complete their sunwise3 circuit to settle near Nemeta. Tod noticed that each knife as it slipped out from under the wearer's tunic had a unique hilt, he wanted to take the time to examine all of them.

The last adult to make the circuit was distinguished by an odd loping shuffle and rather large ears. Bushy eyebrows jittered over sad brown eyes as he strove to remember what he should do next. At last he placed his finger tips together one by one and rotated his wrists as if to make sure of their correct placement. Looking up at Tod he broke into a beatific smile and got out “ Good rising......” 

“ _Gamli”_ someone whispered _._

“Gamli!” he shouted.”I am Quintillius! I talk to the bees.”

Tod ducked his head, when he looked up at Quintillius his eyes were twinkling but he merely said: “If you talk to the bees that is a wonderful thing.”

C

Nemeta stood, a little unsteadily, and announced that it was time for the cleansing; she had lit the fire earlier and the sweat lodge was ready. Her grand-daughters tucked their children into their shawls, a frail baby secured between Bilia's breasts, Iomara's toddler settled on her back, before they moved to help their grandmother.

He and his Uncle Cat were wont to do cleansings, it prepared for dream journeys, initiations, before and after battles, anything where your head needed to be clear and you needed to be right with the gods, anything where you touched the curtain between life and death - a birth, a death, a marriage. The mysteries of that curtain could cling and alter one's wyrd, if it billowed, it could set its roots into your soul and pull you into death or back to life.

Oh, Tod knew about cleansings.

Verna motioned Tod to follow, then she and Cunorix took their places directly behind him.

C

There was enough moonlight to cast muzzy shadows and for the procession to see their way across the level ground. The dogs had roused, keeping pace with the line of people, orbiting Cunorix and butting their shaggy heads up into his hand for a reassuring scratch. 

Although they had been told last night to stand down they were still anxious, trying to stay between Tod and their people, even going so far as to herd the children away from his path.

C

A trickling spring had licked a channel through the pink sandstone veining the granite mountainside . This spring was the r _aison d'être_ of the location of the stronghold. It had never failed and the water was sweet and pure. 4

The sweat lodge had been one of the first things built; set against the mountain slope and facing the mid-winter rising sun. Earth, Fire Air and Water, everything needed by celebrants was present. The hof had been enlarged and improved so that there was room and to spare for the fifteen souls of the clan who were there to sit comfortably in the heat. 

While Nemeta tended to the stones piled in the central hearth and Cunorix pulled the door neatly closed everyone pulled off their tunics and sorted themselves on the wooden benches. There was the rustle of coarse fabric against fabric as everyone folded their clothing into cushions and settled in the darkened room.

Tod of course was offered the place of honor opposite the door. Honey and Verna came to sit on either side of him, bare flank to bare flank, maiden and mother, while the crone dipped rosemary into the water and flicked it to steam on the rocks. 

She intoned: “Three-Part Goddess, open the gates, so that our forebears and our beloved Semni can bless the new Elder fate has brought us. We are here to offer respect and reverence to the three of you. Let it be carried on this sweet vapor, let your benison return on the moisture that clings to our skin and fills our lungs.” 

“Your blessing is necessary if we are to fulfill our wyrd, to join with this being so that our whole can be greater than the sum of our parts.”

Slowly the room filled with sweet smelling steam, condensation slicked the rock walls, trickled down the staves and beaded on the rafters, swelling the roof planks. Everyone breathed easily and relaxed into the heat. Tod scented the somnifacient herbs that had been added to the water, the same herbs that he or his Uncle Cat would have chosen. 

The Crone's voice quavered its way through the hof. Binding. A subtle magic was carried with the water droplets. Entwining. 

C

Nemeta stiffly turned to look at Tod, “Bind them to you, all at once. For your safety and ours.”

She turned back to face the hearth and flick more water on the stones.

He remembered the words Honey had used to reassure him and thought that might be a good way to start.

By the time Tod had ensnared everyone's gaze, his eyes had taken on a silvery hue and his figure was limned with power. Everyone present stared mesmerized by the subtle light.

“You are my people, I am your Gamli. You will not betray me, I will not betray you. I am your sword, you are my shield. You are my heart and I hold you dear.” Tod stood and gestured to his people.

The clan, as one, began the antiphon.5 “We are your people, you are our Gamli. We will not betray you, you will not betray us. You are our sword, we are your shield. We are your heart and you hold us dear. You are our link to the other world and we honor you.”

Everyone seemed to feel _something_ click into place. Tod felt more settled in himself than he had in a long time, centuries perhaps. 

Lungs breathed in unison, as though they belonged to a singular organism. The babies first broke the rhythm with a few quick inhales and slowly they became individuals again; finally shifting around, murmuring, signaling that the trance had broken.

Quietly they all filed out of the sweat lodge, Nemeta again in the lead, and walked toward where the spring cascaded down the rock wall. The silence was broken as each took their turn standing under the icy water until their skin tingled, then danced away blowing and slicking their hair back. 

Standing apart, the dragur watched his people. Slack breasted, white haired Nemeta, broad hipped Vera (she had borne her share of babies), crippled Cunorix, scarred and withered all along his right side, that arm drawn up across his belly. 

He cast his eyes around the moonlit grounds of the settlement. Easily defensible, steep wooded slopes on three sides accessed by a narrow zig zag graveled cartway. Barns and outbuildings were starting to show wear, but still solid. The gardens were well tended and closely planted, the livestock neatly penned. Both like and unlike where he grew up. Almost as if time had stood still.

In the background Bilia and Iomara took turns, first the screeching toddler was unceremoniously dangled under the moon-silvered cascade, then 'Mara rinsed her long dark hair. Bili passed her tiny infant over to 'Mara while she took a moment to get clean. Tod's vision was acute enough to tell that she still bore the marks of her recent pregnancy, her belly not yet tight and her breasts veined and hard with milk.

Quintilius stood under the water as if it were a penance and quickly moved to let the children whoop and dance through the fall. They were out soon enough, teeth chattering and lips blue. Bird and Honey had taken charge of all the children's tunics and promptly herded them up toward the main house. 

It was good this place was so defensible; unlike his home, it was rich enough to need it. After all these years he finally realized that the reason the Romans had fought so determinedly to take his people's land wasn't because it was so beautiful but because it sat on the route to even richer places. Rome was greedy. They wanted Gaul's wheat and Dacia's minerals, and the tin from Albion. They wanted it all and his people were in the way.

C

Tod turned from his appraisal of the thickly wooded slopes to follow the sound of Bird's flute back into the main house.

The dogs had been stationed in the forecourt and moved to bar his entry with pricked ears and deep grumbles. Cunorix stepped out to reprimand the guards with a harsh “Leave it!” and held the inner door open for him. 

The people had returned to their niches and were raptly listening to Bird's flute. The new girl, Aia, sat at his feet voicing a wordless accompaniment to the reedy melody. It was a treat to listen to of an evening, everyone had missed his music.

As Tod slowly walked to his place at the head of the room the people hushed one by one, music and voice, until naught could be heard but respiration and the snuffle of a nursing baby. 

Nemeta stood as their Gamli passed, as soon as he was settled the old woman announced that it was time for the celebration of blood.

Honey was close enough that she could hear the snick as Tod's fangs snapped down and see the suddenly blank expression on his face. He was hungry but he was going to hide it. 

“Elder,” she breathed, “I will feed you more later if you still need it.”

His shoulders dropped a hairsbreadth signaling relief.

“As the eldest of the clan, I shall lead and I will demonstrate. First the greeting, then the exchange, and finally the thanks.”

Standing half turned to the clan so that all could witness, Nemeta pressed her gnarled hands together, bowed, and spoke:”Greetings Gamli, I offer my blood.” She extended her hand, palm upwards, toward Tod's mouth.

He wasn't at all sure what he was supposed to do next but when the Crone looked meaningfully at him and opened her mouth he opened his. It was a little startling when the old mother pressed her forefinger against his already extended fang but he automatically closed his mouth and savored the blood. He could actually taste traces of Ancient Semni, decades worth of blood exchanges, he could taste age and smoke and sorrow. Lovers gained and lovers lost. A long lifetime of emotions and seasons of hunger. 

“Thank you, grandmother.” He inhaled deeply, this part was disturbing, “I offer my blood in return.” Tod pierced his finger and presented it to Nemeta. Her toothless mouth opened like a bird's and her eyes closed as she absorbed the blood.

The ceremony was repeated with Verna, Cunorix, Honey and Bird. Finally Iomara and Billia brought the children up. 'Mara's toddler did just as his mother did, no fuss; Bili's tiny baby wailed weakly as he was disturbed from his nap but sucked a while on Tod's finger before dropping off again. Bili' leaned forward to plead- ”He is not strong, would you gift him with more of your blood later? Grandmother says it will make him more likely to survive.”

Tod nodded decisively before turning to the children. Buck and Andy, old hands at this business, led the way, the older children, Ivor and Addy not to be out done, followed their example. Well, Ivor did flinch a little.

Quintilius reluctantly trailed the parade. “Not right, 'posed to be our Semni.” He looked right at Tod and proclaimed:”she was good to me.”

C

So far, so good, all those little bits of blood sparkled in his mind, maybe tickled, and he'd have to spend some time sorting them all out. But even 'though Honey and Bird were stronger presences they were not distracting. It gave him a feeling companionship when he was out there in the dark. He did get lonely.

C

Verna brought out a pitcher of mead from the storeroom behind Tod's resting place. She ducked her head and blushed when he took the time to sniff and comment that it was similar to what his stepmother made. He even went so far as to moisten his fingertip in the mead and touch it to his tongue. He hadn't tried _that_ in a long time. 

They promptly sat on one of the empty benches to compare recipes. This was Verna's spring mead flavored with sweet woodruff. There was never much of it because there was little honey to spare at that time of the year. They would be harvesting the first honey of the year soon and would have plenty for mead making and preserving fruits.

“There will be the feast of Lugh and Rosmerta6 at the Lugnasad7 to celebrate the first harvest. The mead will be ready by then and even some ale.”

C

Tod decided then and there that he would help with the harvest. Bird had recited to him a list of those who lost their lives exacting vengeance for Semni's murder. The clan had lost fourteen men and women destroying that nest of nightwalkers. Astounding that they had been able to do that at all. Not only that but this happened only three generations after they had lost more than half their people from illness and accident whilst fleeing the Romans and crossing the Rhine. Brave, stubborn people. 

The dragur actually smiled (he smiled more this month than he had in the previous two centuries) before he told Verna that he wanted to help with the harvest this year. His strength would be an asset and it was the least he could do after what Honey and Bird had done for him.

Besides it would do his soul good to revisit his youth occasionally.

C

Verna stood as she saw Bili' approaching, baby tucked into her stole. “Time for you to do some healing. The scales of our indebtedness will always balance.”

Tod patted the cushion next to him encouraging Bili to sit. “What do you know of this, Bili? I have never heard of healing an infant.”

“Well, when I was little, Ancient Semni healed another child, I didn't pay much attention at the time, but grandmother Nemeta reminded me and said that a couple of drops every night would make him much stronger.” Bili looked down at the baby and went on in a rush: “She also said that I had something I could give you that you would really like.”

He removed his finger from his mouth where he was getting ready to pierce it. “What might that be – what did Nemeta say I would like?”

Bili continued to look at her hands twisting in the baby's blanket. “My milk. Ancient Semni used to enjoy it for a treat – woman's milk. She said it was almost the same as blood, but was sweet.”

Tod's eyebrows shot right up into his hairline. “Er, emmm, I didn't know. You are sure?” _Wait what was he thinking, just because he had nothing but blood for two centuries didn't mean …..well maybe it did mean that it was all pretty much the same. Even water gave him a pretty ferocious belly ache. Just the thought of a change....._

“Oh, yes, I'm sure, grandmother said.” Suddenly Bili wanted to convince the Gamli that this was possible. She wanted to be the one to do something special for him.

“You do know I'd help the baby, no matter what?”

“Yes, Gamli, I know you will help us, in turn we will do what we might for you.” Bili reeled that off as though it were something that she had learned by rote. Which she had.

“Why don't you try, see if it agrees with you?” the girl was so enthusiastic she set the sleeping baby aside and tugged down the neck of her tunic.

He had to admit that this had never occurred to him. Of course he had _heard_ of it, in the fable of Roman Charity and the prisoner Cimon being sustained with her milk. He'd also _heard_ of it when men boasted of the sweetness and abundance of their wives' milk and what strong and healthy children they had...that boasting always seemed to beckon bad luck – hubris it was.

“Well? D'ya want to try? I'm dripping here.” Bili's impatience brought him right out of his thoughts and brought his attention to her tightly swollen blue veined breast. Her nipple was dark with its rivulet of thin milk drenching the linen of her tunic.

The best approach seemed to be to reach right across and capture part of the stream in his palm. So warm, but now cooler than blood, pale as moonlight, sweet smelling. Tentatively he touched his tongue to the liquid, he'd forgotten what sweet tasted like. With one sweep of his tongue he made short work of the milk.

Meanwhile Bili had snatched up the baby and the poor thing was sputtering at the onrush of milk. She was muttering about hell on clothes, my tunic is soaked.

C

Clutching a wooden bowl, Nemeta hobbled towards where Tod and Billi were. “Quit trying to drown the baby, catch your milk in the bowl.”

Bili looked confused a moment fumbling between the bowl and the baby until Nemeta handed Tod the bowl and picked up the now thrashing infant. So tiny, he sounded just like a kitten sneezing.

With her hands now free Bili took the bowl and pressed it just below her teat to catch the overflow, half filling the cup before the trickle stopped.

“Oooof, that feels better. My milk came big time. Maybe next I'll be blessed with twins.”

Baby and bowl changed positions again. Bilia wandered over to her niche tossing over her shoulder “I'll be back as soon as I've gotten us dry.”

The two ancients sat together. Finally Tod got up the nerve to ask the crone: “Do you know how old you are?“

“Ahemmm,” she began before clearing her throat again. Cough, “Never know what part is going to fail me next.” She thought a little more. “I was young, but I remember when the news came that the Emperor Trajan had died. That puts me over my first century.

“Semni healed me of a grave sickness when I was a young mother. It took much of her blood. Many of us were horribly sick. We were on the move, looking for a refuge from the constant skirmishes. The clan came to a promising valley and we thought we'd look things over. It seemed strange that there were no other people there since it was well watered with good and rich pasture land. One or two of the sheep fell sick, and although we decided that it wasn't safe to eat the meat we did hope to take the fleece. Then the cows started to drop and we knew there was a curse on that valley and we had to leave. But by then the people were too sick to go anywhere. Those who caught the sickness in their lungs died quickly, others developed horrible charcoal dark sores and hung on longer.

“The whole time we were crying and weeping in our hearts and our Semni heard us. She had been hunting and reaving in the east and it took her several days to arrive. She was able to save my father the Charioteer, his dark haired wife and his brother Vernogenous along with his spouse, Lucky. And of course me. We lost more than half the clan and all our livestock to the cursed valley. We all needed much blood and our Ancient was pale and gaunt when she'd done.

“All of us, the ones who had had so much blood, lived a long time, and bore children much beyond the usual season. I was in my seventh decade when Quintilius was born. A last fling, you understand?

“That was then. So many died so quickly.” Nemeta sighed weakly “But Ancient Semni had already developed a taste for mother's milk. Especially in the summer when the flavors of fruit and berries were carried so clearly.”

Tod looked straight at the crone, decided to accept what the clan offered and drank the milk straight down. I coated his tongue with sweetness. A blessing.

“She said it reminded her of her human life, without the drawbacks,” the woman continued. “She used to joke with us around Yule – that she certainly didn't miss having to go out into the snow to have a wee.”

Dragur and human chuckled together, sharing a moment.

 

 

1In Norse mythology, the Norns are the demi-goddesses of destiny. They control the destinies of both gods and men, as well as the unchanging laws of the cosmos. They are represented as three sisters: Urd ("fate"), Verdandi ("necessity") and Skuld ("being"). They live at the base of the World Tree [Yggdrasil](http://www.pantheon.org/articles/y/yggdrasil.html) in the realm of [Asgard](http://www.pantheon.org/articles/a/asgard.html). 

Nothing lasts forever, and even the mighty Yggdrasil is subject to decay. The Norns try to stop this process, or at least slow it down, by pouring mud and water from the Well of Fate over its branches. This magical liquid stops the rotting process for the time being.

In other myths, the Norns were thought to give assistance at birth, and that each person has his own personal Norn.

2http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Box-bed

3In Scottish folklore, **Sunwise** or **Sunward** was considered the “prosperous course”, turning from east to west in the direction of the [sun](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sun). The opposite course was known in [Scotland](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scotland) as [_widdershins_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Widdershins) ([Lowland Scots](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lowland_Scots)), or _tuathal_ ([Scottish Gaelic](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scottish_Gaelic), lit. northerly), and would have been [counterclockwise](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Counterclockwise).

 4For additional information see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bibracte

5a verse or song to be chanted or sung in response

6Lugh is the Celtic lord of every skill.and consort Rosmerta was the goddess of fire, warmth, and abundance. A flower queen and hater of marriage, Rosmerta was also the queen of death. A Celtic goddess of fertility and wealth, whose cult was widely spread in Northeast Gaul. Rosmerta was the wife of [Esus](http://www.pantheon.org/articles/e/esus.html), the Gaulish Hermes. Her attributes are a cornucopia and a stick with two snakes. 

7Midsummer


	24. The Blacksmiths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second blacksmith returns to the home of the Aeturni, but trouble dogs his heels. How will Tod handle the former cock-of-the-walk, can he hold his temper or will there be bloodshed?

The Blacksmiths  


A blacksmith courted me  
Nine months and better  
He fairly won my heart  
Wrote me a letter.  
With his hammer in his hand  
He looked so clever  
And if I was with my love  
I would live forever.

But where is my love gone  
With his cheeks like roses  
And his good black Billycock on  
Decked around with primroses.  
I fear the shining sun  
May burn and scorch his beauty  
And if I was with my love  
I would do my duty.

Strange news is come to town  
Strange news is carried  
Strange news flies up and down  
That my love is married.  
I wish them both much joy  
Though they can't hear me  
And may God reward him well  
For the slighting of me.

Don't you remember when  
You lay beside me  
And you said you'd marry me  
And not deny me.  
If I said I'd marry you  
It was only for to try you  
So bring your witness love  
And I'll not deny you.

No, witness have I none  
Save God Almighty  
And may he reward you well  
For the slighting of me.  
Her lips grew pale and wan  
It made a poor heart tremble  
To think she loved a one  
And he proved deceitful.

A blacksmith courted me  
Nine months and better  
He fairly won my heart  
Wrote me a letter.  
With his hammer in his hand  
He looked so clever  
And if I was with my love I would live forever.   
"The Blacksmith" as written by Christy Moore/Andy Irvine/Donal Lunny/Liam O'flynn

In the slanting light of morning, a soaring hawk watched the mountainside fervent with long-shadowed figures. She paid no mind to the boys that were herding belled goats up to higher pastures. Nor to the larger bells on the cattle clanking as a man chivvied them down towards lusher grazing.   
The herder's whistles and shouts carried faintly on the air. Nearby there was a rhythmic chuck-clink of a hoe as women bent rhythmically to the necessities of a garden.  
Rocking on the rising heat from the sun-warmed rocks, the hawk tipped, sliding on the updraft to examine a new figure leading a string of heavily laden ponies up the cliff side cartage. Nothing of interest there, but just beyond the trail-way the raptor spied a rabbit bounding away from the intruder; the hawk folded her wings, dropping faster than a rock flung from a catapult.  
The dusty bare-legged figure leading the ponies jerked around when the bunny screamed and the ponies shied. They'd already recognized the home trail and were ready to plow right through the human to get to the safety of their paddock. They'd had altogether enough of the nasty swaying loads clanking in their packs.  
The traveler emerged from that tussle even sweatier, dustier and more tired. He glared at the hawk who hissed at him and arched her wings threateningly from atop the rabbit. Gah, drama, and I was almost home. I just wanted to get there, sit down, have a cool one, relax a bit before Lughnasadh.1  
The pack ponies' eyes still rolled and their hooves nervously danced through puffs of dust, they wanted their barn.   
He'd placed the younger mare in front where he could keep an eye on her. If any of the string were going to bolt it would be that little idiot, so he hung on to the lead rope for dear life while he shouldered her up the incline to the level step that the Aeturni had carved into the side of the plateau.   
The horses had made such a fuss that he hadn't heard the dogs barking, much less the children playing. That mare was still acting up, more dancing sideways than going forward, and the drover had to lean pretty hard on her shoulder to keep her from skittering over the edge. Once he had gotten the ponies beyond the incline and through the gate to the compound he could take a moment, breathing heavily.  
They all caught sight of him soon enough when his head poked up over the bit of wall and terracing meant to keep the home place from washing down the side of the cliff.  
“Brandr! You are back! Was there good trade?” Ivor pelted across the open area full ready to help with the ponies. His cousin Gia came panting up behind. Her legs not quite long enough to keep up with his.  
Brandr looked over at the two other children that had been playing with their Ivor.  
“Introduce your friends, Ivorix.”  
This is Buck and Andy, Bird and Honey brought them back from the big river.  
Gravely Brandr bent over to clasp arms with Buck honoring him with a real man's salute.  
Buck slipped his arm around Andy before tugging her forward. “Sir, this is my sister Andala. The elders said that we were to be Aeturni now.“  
“Unca Marten said we could,” added Andy.  
“Well, let us put up the ponies and then you can tell me who Uncle Marten is.”  
C  
Sitting in the shade of the hall, Cunorix called the dogs back to him and waved as Brandr led his parade of ponies and children across the clearing towards the barn. The older man and the dogs were on baby sitting duty. He had dragged his faldstool2 outside to where he could watch the women working in the garden and be close enough for them to feed a hungry baby. Billi's tiny infant was sleeping inside his tunic in the crook of his withered arm and 'Mara's toddler was intent on gouging holes in the dust while explaining to the dogs what she was doing. The dogs were puzzled but polite, cocking their ears and listening closely.  
In the shadowy barn Gia and Andy crouched to one side, clutching the pony brushes, while Brandr put aside the packs and handed bits of tack for the boys to hang up.  
As soon as one of the ponies was hitched to an upright the girls moved in with the brushes. Like little girls everywhere they chose to work on the same side, advising each other on the best way to proceed, chattering and scolding as much as brushing.   
Brandr shook his head as he watched, he didn't understand girls and he didn't understand women.  
Ivor and Buck tackled another one of the shaggy beasts, one to a side, making rather a contest of it. Brandr watched for a moment, satisfied he then turned back to the girls, shrugged and moved off to start picking hooves.  
By the time they were halfway through grooming, the only thought in Brandr's head was ale and how much his feet hurt. After a bath, no, an ale first and then a bath. He was imagining how good it would feel when he got these boots off when a screech pierced the dusty gloom of the barn followed by a tumult of wailing.  
Brandr ran out, armed only with a hoof pick. He squinted, half blinded by the bright sunlight. Midway between the barn and the hall was a flurry of head cloths, faded tunics, and hair pulling. Husband stealer was the least of the audible insults.   
Brandishing her walking stick as she hurried from the weaving shed, Verna finally waded into the melee. “Hai, what are you doing here?”   
Either the elder, her stick or just that it was now three against one meant the tumult finally settled. Brandr was amazed to see that the woman who had been scrapping with 'Mara and Bili was Veni, the light-skirt daughter from one of the holdings on the river road.  
As soon as she got a look at him she resumed her screeching. “I've just heard! This morning, a trader who had passed through Confluentes yesterday. Said, he said.” Tears and mucus were streaming down her face, already twisted and red with passion.   
“Oh, how could I have loved such a deceitful man? He said that you were bargaining for a wife with the guild of iron mongers.” Veni started tearing at her hair again and wailing.  
“You lay beside me, got me with child, said you'd marry me and not deny me!”  
By this time Brandr had his handsome backside against the barn and the children were peering wide-eyed at the commotion. “If I said I'd marry you, it was in the heat of the moment.” He tossed his hair back defiantly. “Bring your witness, love and I'll not deny you.”  
“Fie, Brandr, where are your balls?” Verna shouted, thwacking him sharply on the shoulder with her staff and raising a puff of dust. “She is pregnant! If it is yours you have to at least own the child.”  
Taking his other shoulder as a target Verna laid into him again. “You will visit this girl's father tomorrow and swear you will acknowledge the babe if it is yours. As soon as it turns six summers we will foster it.”  
“But, I want Brandr to live with us, we have a good farm, our children would inherit the land.” The girl whined. “The Goddess blessed me, she heard his promises.”  
“Girlie,” Verna sternly laid down her ruling, thumping her walking stick in emphasis. “Brandr is the son of Korisos the famous sword maker; grandson of Essandecotos, known as the Charioteer for his skill; descended from Artevalos our ruler who returned from the battle at Teutoburg. He is of renowned lineage, you should be honored to have him acknowledge your child.”  
The matriarch growled at Brandr. “Idiot, why did you not explain to the girl?”  
Shamefaced, Brandr picked at a loose thread on his tunic. “I didn't want to use my ancestors just to have my way with her.”  
“Well,” and she thumped her staff on the ground several times. “After day-meal we will have Bird escort her home and negotiate the penalty with her father.” and in a whisper “Tell me she wasn't a virgin3, that will cost us a fortune, or you your life;” back to full volume “and no matter the crime nor what the penalty, you WILL repay the family!  
“Her father is our neighbor, no man of this clan will litter the countryside with his bastards. We are honorable people and take care of our own.”  
“Yes, Verna, thank you Verna. May I finish with the ponies now?”  
The younger women got to their feet to brush the dust off and tidy their hair. 'Mara and Bili untied their coarse linen smocks and authoritatively snapped the dust from the billowing cloth.  
Many sets of eyes had watched the squabble. Veni's determined march into their camp, her searching eyes landing on the women hoeing the garden, deciding they must be to blame , 'Mara trying to prevent any serious damage when Veni attacked the 'husband stealers.' Cunorix had enjoyed a close view of the action from his seat in the shade, the toddler had clutched the cripple's tunic to haul herself up and promptly stuck two fingers in her mouth, sucking absentmindedly and not sure how she should react.   
When her mother, 'Mara, separated herself from the group and seemed to be heading in her direction, it decided the little one and she went from lip quiver to full out howl in a flash.   
Bili led Veni toward a bench under the back portico where they could watch and comment on ancient Nemeta's progress with the stew that was simmering over the outside cook fire. The only time they had to put up with the smoke inside was during the winter.  
After 'Mara had scooped up the toddler and firmly settled her astride her hip Bili extricated the infant from Cunorix' tunic as she passed by on her way to join the other women. The blood had done wonders. He was better now and had started to nurse more enthusiastically.   
Adopting the instinctive maternal sway for a moment 'Mara calmed her child's howls, before she sat with the others. As soon as she was sure 'Mara wasn't going anywhere the toddler dived under her tunic for a little comfort, awkwardly half climbing on to her lap, her fat little leg hooked over her mother's thigh.  
“You know,” said Nemeta while stirring the soup, “you are going to have to name that baby soon.”  
“You mean something besides 'always hungry'?” 'Mara tried to laugh it off.  
“I know you lost a baby after Ivor, but surely this one is past the chance for weanling illness and besides we...” glancing at the stranger, “we have learned a few things since then.”  
“Ermmm, so Veni, when do you think you might be due?” 'Mara quickly deflected visitor's curiosity.  
“Oh, some time in the month before Eostre,” said Veni, rubbing her belly.  
Putting aside their chores, the family drew in, settling on benches, ready for day-meal. Honey took note of the stranger as she came out of the brew house. She had been so enrapt compounding the herbs she would use to flavor the ale for the feast day, she hadn't paid mind to the shouting. Drying her hands on her apron she drew close enough to hear the woman's statement. She frowned a moment, then her thoughts turned inward.  
Bird was late, by the time he showed up carrying several braces of pigeons the pitcher of small ale4 had gone around once and the first bowls of stew were almost gone.  
“Hai, I hope you left some for me. Who's this? Brandr did you bring me a treat from Confluentes? Wher'd Aia get to?”  
“Nah, nah. You don't deserve a treat. This is our neighbor's daughter, Veni.”   
“Well my Aia should be along soon, you will meet her then; she was laying out clothes to dry.”  
“Hai, Bird,” Verna spoke, wanting to settle the situation with the girl. “Apparently Veni fell pregnant and claims that our Brandr is the sire.” Verna's expression changed from mild disbelief when looking at the girl to glowering disapproval when she shifted her gaze to Brandr.  
“As our counselor I want you to escort Veni back to her farm and explain to her father why marriage is impossible since Brandr has already entered into negotiations for an alliance with the Parthian Kareni5 in Confluentes.”  
Bird looked over at Brandr, “Ooooh, that will be a good match; wonderful traders – they have contacts along the whole route north of the Helvetii, all the way to Pannonia.”  
Veni was shrinking into herself, she had been so full of righteous anger when she'd gotten up here. She was going to retrieve her man, and no two-bit girlie was going to stand in her way. Now, she felt as though she was sinking into a pile of manure. Or at least slipping into the chasm that separated this clan and her not-very-large family. Well, she'd take what she could get and fostering would give this child a leg up in the world.  
Squaring his shoulders, Brandr was undeniably proud of himself. “Karena has a good head on her shoulders, as a young widow with three strong children, she will make a wonderful partner.” He stretched out his legs, both to ease the ache and to take up more room in his pride. When he caught Veni admiring what he had to offer his eyes sensuously traveled up to hers and he winked flirtatiously.  
Veni sat up a bit at the wink. Brandr was a lusty man, maybe she could have her cake and eat it too? There were advantages, oh yes there were definite advantages to a part time liaison. No man to tell her what to do but an occasional bed warmer on tap – plus favor from Brandr's clan. She could live with this. She would make sure her father and brothers would listen to reason too.  
The Aeturnae watched the action between Brandr and Veni. Verna shook her head and pursed her lips disapprovingly, Honey rubbed her face with both hands, 'Mara rolled her eyes and Bili sucked her teeth.   
Bird only snorted and asked who would clean the pigeons while he was dickering with Veni's father.  
With a smile 'Mara, always the peacemaker, brightly offered to do the pigeons while 'little miss hungry wolf' had her nap.  
All had another stoop6 of small ale, even the children drained their half-sized mugs while everyone fidgeted and made those little motions of getting up and getting back to work that folk make.  
Verna and Bili herded the children back with them to the endless tasks waiting in the weaving shed. They all would work on carding the wool, Andy and Gia could practice their spinning later.   
The sword smith was being scolded by old Nemeta and crippled Cunorix. Everyone knew what a tom cat he was and his handsome face got him his way more often than not. But they understood that his randy ways were all in fun and the only thing he really cared about was the craft of sword making. No pretty girl could turn his head when he was in the middle of a project. Funny guy.  
C  
The sun sloped to the west as Bird led Veni back through the garth, commenting on the age of the various buildings as they passed. The dairy was new and the stone work was smartly whitewashed. Their smithy took up one end of the barn, Brandr had stowed the packs of good steel under cover there. On the other side of the compound Bird pointed out the weaving shed, which was due to be replaced, and the winery, which wasn't as new as the dairy. Every building was fronted with lavender, chamomile or sage, the air hummed and quivered with bees. When they passed the flax field they could see where the land dropped off steeply into the vineyard and further down to the glittering river.  
The girl had been on such a tear this morning that the garth had gone by in a blur. She had known Brandr's family were prosperous but since they bought so much grain from her father she thought that maybe they were land poor and because of that he might leap at the chance to marry her. Pffft, maybe she should have kept her eyes open and her mouth shut!  
“Well, Bird, is it?” Veni asked as they made their way down the switchback to the road. “Bird, I was so happy when I found I was pregnant, because of my brother, you see?”  
“Your brother, why because of your brother?”  
“He and his wife can't seem to have any children. We know it is because of him,'cause she already had a baby.” She turned and met his gaze, “Don't you think it is better to marry a woman who has already had a child, a woman who has proved that she can do her duty by a family? At least that's what my father always says.”   
Blinking, a little overwhelmed by the spate of words, Bird agreed that her father had a point but then deflected Veni a little bit, “I don't mind that Aia hasn't had children yet, she has a lovely true voice and I'd partner with her just for that.  
“My older cousin, Horse, just wed the blacksmith Isarnomarus' daughter, you know the one with the shop on the Via Augusta facing the big river? But he's been sweet on Eppie for years, ever since he did his apprenticeship there.”  
The girl bit her lip realizing that her timing had been way, way off, she'd missed her chance with any of the men of this clan. Well she'd have to make the best of it. Sure as the Goddess made little green apples she wasn't going to settle for one of the small time farmers in the area just to get a husband – no matter what her sister-in-law said.   
Veni straightened her back, “Well then, if that's the way of it,” I can be flexible, “fostering this baby will be a good thing.” Maybe my father will appreciate the alliance more than he would a son-in-law.  
C  
Honey watched as Bird and Veni walked into the afternoon and away from the Aeturni garth. She found herself wiping her hands over and over on her rough work tunic.  
Oh, Brandr, what have you gotten yourself into this time. Gave me a thing or three to think about though.   
Honey turned her face up to the westering sun. I'm pretty sure that Marten got me with child, may it please the Goddess. Should I wait another week before I say something? I will wait, but I feel different – not bad, just different.  
Flicking her eyes back towards where Bird escorted Brandr's mistress back home, passing the vineyard, Honey's eyes traveled over the dusty leaves on the vines. They needed some rain but it didn't look as though it would happen anytime soon. Perhaps they could turn this weather to the good and get the upper hayfield cut. Verna would know if this would be a good time.  
The ale herbs had been mixed and put aside, Honey went off to the dairy to see if the curds from this morning had set and were ready to strain. They would make a nice supper.  
C  
Everyone saw to their chores in the afternoon. Cunorix supervised Quintilius laying the flax to rett7 in one of the low spots alongside the waterfall. He poked at the stalks with the back of a rake, making sure they were all submerged.  
They stopped a moment to admire the brilliant orange damselflies darting a handsbreadth above the stream snipping up individuals from the clouds of gnats. The sun was bright, Cunorix stretched as much as he could and ruefully watched Quintilius lead the ponies to the flax field. Half a man and half a mind. Well, together they usually got the job done.  
They would begin the tedious scutching and breaking the fibers after Lughnasadh. Their ancestors had figured it all out, each retting pool would hold one wain of flax. On a really good year they would get three wains full and it was more than the women could weave of a summer. In the fall the pools would be filled again with hemp and the process would begin again. On a poor year they would be using nettles – that wasn't fun. 'Round back to Oestre's time and they'd be washing fleeces there.  
C  
A weary Bird levered himself up the slope with his walking stick just as dusk started to gather in the hollows and between the trees. His mission had gone well. Veni's father was mollified by the chance to get a grandchild fostered by the industrious Aeturni. He had asked what their clan's name signified, luckily Bird was able to put him off with a tale of an ancestor's vow. Thank Lugh for the blessing of a glib tongue. It was true, sort of, mostly, just not what they assumed. Heh!  
Tonight would be a good night to retell the tale. That is after Tod and Brandr became acquainted, double heh! Brandr was sure to get a kink in his tail with another male taking the reins. Never mind that Tod was dragur.  
Perhaps he wouldn't have a chance at storytelling tonight; it would depend on how much of a hissy fit Brandr threw.  
Bird shook his head and chuckled as he and his walking stick topped the rise guarded by the garth's gates. He always liked to take a moment to look back over the Moselle, at this time of day the river was a silver mirror hammered by the evening light, but behind the hall the stars were faint in the eastern sky. He took a moment to balance with his staff and knock the sole of his boot against a rock; dust had found its way down between his toes and it was driving him nuts.  
The aroma of fresh bread drifted on the air. Good. Just in time for night meal. He was hungry again even though he was offered the hospitality of bread, cheese and ale at that farmstead. Time enough for a quick wash and then food – he was sure old Nemeta would fill him in on the drama.  
It was full dark by the time Bird stepped into the hall, in an eye blink he was ready to back right out. You could actually smell the tension – the agitated guy smell with an underlying pong of fear.  
His eyes flicked over the family. Bless those kids! Buck and Andy had set the pace when they'd retreated into the darkest corners, the women crouched in front of them, their bodies poised as shields, a few had already unsheathed their knives.  
Backed against the carvings of the box bed, Tod's face was as impenetrable as granite. Only his quivering nostrils gave away his vital status.  
When Bird's regard flicked over to Brandr, first his pallor drew his attention, then his glittering eyes. This was bad.  
This was very bad.   
If Brandr were still strutting about, red faced and posturing, Bird might have been able to talk him down.   
Could Tod contain his anger? He didn't know Brandr, he didn't know his fiery spirit, the only thing that smith had patience for was metal working. In every other area he was tinder just waiting for a spark.  
Bird made the only move he could. A two handed thwack!!!! Lugh willing he hadn't killed the idiot. Whatever, it was still better than the bloodbath that been brewing.  
C  
A blur and a draft marked Tod's passing.  
Everyone's posture sagged a bit in relief. Everyone breathed a little more easily. Eyes darted around the room as each reassured themselves that all others were whole. The baby hiccuped and wailed, the older girls sobbed quietly, the adults overflowed with tears of relieved tension.   
Someone muttered “Fuckin' Brandr!”  
C  
The dragur flung himself up the mountain face, consumed with passion. He tore through the Vosego silva, the woods covering the Vosges Mountains8, until he stood on the eastern face and could see the snows of his homeland glittering in the distance under the waxing moon. His dead heart remained still even though he was racked with misery.  
So close, his sense of his humanity had been within touching distance, and yet tonight he'd learned it was so ephemeral, his inhuman instincts so divisive. He'd thought for a moment he was going to splinter his fangs trying to retain control.   
Brandr had paced and strutted, twisted his mouth in distaste, called him a child, disparaged his friends and stretched his forbearance down to its last thread.  
The attitude of the Aeturni led him to believe that there was value in this Brandr, what that was, Tod couldn't tell. He'd also gotten the hint that Brandr had shamed himself that day and was striking out. Tch! He would have to be taught a lesson, Tod would think on what might suit.  
Right now he was so tightly wound he was vibrating, he wanted to release and spatter the sky with great gouts of blood. He wanted to fight something worthy of his mettle, not a puling human.  
A snap in the forest behind him pulled Tod from the vista. Eahh! The Goddess still loved him. A king amongst red deer, massive, with a crown of new antlers the breadth of a yew tree, the finest of the wood. He would match himself against the great cervid, using only human strength, the battle an offering to Lugh the hard striker that he may set aright the mind of his child and servant Brandr.  
Confronting the stag, “Hai, I offer to do battle with you who carry the crown of swords so that bright faced Lugh might be mollified during his festival Lugansah.” It was the least he could do for the Aeturni, for the kindness they had shown him. He was still a priest and it was right that he should sacrifice his strength and this kingly deer for the well-being of his people.   
The stag bowed his head in assent and paced towards Tod, the white rimming his eyes adding to the fearsome appearence.  
The dragur seized the stag's antlers in both hands, wanting to measure himself against the great neck muscles of the beast.   
Back and forth they surged, churning the ground, the stag whipping Tod to and fro, flattening the undergrowth with the dragur's body until his ragged skin was daubed with blood and frothed saliva from the stuggling animal. Tod grimly held fast, shoulders straining, muscles rippling under his youthful exterior, knowing that if he slipped and those hooves reached him the damage would be horrendous.  
The red deer wearied but Tod was undaunted and pressed the animal until it fell to its knees and Tod was able to seize its nose for the leverage to break its neck.   
“Lugh, strong hand, this death is for you! Show your favor to the Aeturni this harvest!”  
C  
Panting more out of habit than necessity, Tod examined the dark tangle of branches above him till he found one that would support the stag's weight. Rising up he secured the animal through the hamstrings then pinched the great artery in the throat to bleed before ripping open the paunch. I think the old ones would like the liver, I'd better save that, he wrapped it in what was left of his tunic.  
C  
Sitting, he picked the bits of bark out of his wounds while the last of the deer's blood pattered and dripped on the forest floor. The air was thick with the smell of death and blood. Tod thought he might as well get going, he wasn't getting any cleaner sitting here and he imagined Honey wouldn't be too keen on getting close unless he smelled better. He wanted some comfort this night.  
%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has taken me a horrid long time. Sometimes I felt as though I were trying to count ants running around an anthill. As usual penpractice told me, kindly but firmly when I was not making sense. Bless her boots and buttons.
> 
> Watch Planxty perform 'The Blacksmith' http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VK_caqXhbXU&feature=share&list=FLKlI52rKi0RVMXiOvhxuRDg


	25. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tod turned and sped west across the wooded plateau, towards where he knew his people were. The little bonds with the Aeturni kept him warm, no, not warm, warm in his body but warm in his mind. Or at least not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Profound thanks to penpractice, in charge of my coherency.

Whispers  
Once he had settled in his mind that the buck was best used as part of the Lughnasadh feast, Tod turned and sped west across the wooded plateau, towards where he knew his people were. The little bonds with the Aeturni kept him warm, no, not warm, warm in his body but warm in his mind. Or at least not alone. Like being in an inhabited house.  
Hunkering down at the top of the cliff he took the time to test the air – what news was carried on the moist updraft, what sounds reached his acute hearing.  
All was as it should be, even that annoying peacock Brandr's scent was threaded in with the rest of the Aeturni, but neither blood nor fear piqued his senses. There was a whisper of something though, something that was almost obscured by the complex odors rising from the river.   
Tod climbed a little higher and retreated further from the edge, nothing yet,he wanted to catch more than just the hints borne on the updraft from the sun warmed stones, he needed to be higher to find the scents from yesterday that had risen and drifted over the plateau. He rose upwards, a bit at a time, his nostrils flaring, his lips parted, inhaling deeply, swirling the air past the membranes of his mouth, as he turned his head from side to side. The upper currents tonight were shifting from the prevailing west to the southwest and back again. Dragar (plural of dragur) and dragar blood came faintly. Young dragar. Hunh! Not good. Overlain with the blood of an old one. Abruptly he cleared his nose in a mighty snort. He'd have to warn his people.  
Shouldering the huge buck, Tod ghosted down the mountain neither cracking a branch nor rustling a leaf. From above, dwarfed by the huge carcass, he seemed to scuttle across the moonlit clearing like a beetle. He ducked within the stone structure nearest the waterfall for a moment; when he appeared again it was without the deer.   
What was left of his clothing was soon removed and a cloud of brittle deer hair snapped out to drift in the bright night. After vigorously rubbing his head and scratching at his arms and torso, Itchy stuff, his figure ducked under the water for relief. In a blur he was out again, sluicing the water from his arms and tossing his head to send the droplets flying.  
◊  
When he slipped in the back way the gloom of the hall was no bar to Tod's vision. He let his eyes drift up one side and down the other. Scent thickly whispered a name for each lump.   
On the side closest to him, Verna's heart beat slowly as she lay protectively in front of Cunorix who in turn was surrounded by bolsters supporting his crippled side. She had fallen asleep resting her hand on his shoulder. On the wall next to them hung their favorite tools, Verna’s best staff and drop spindle, both smooth with long use. The hound-king had hooks to support his carved walking staff.  
Then Billia, curled on her side, her topmost arm propped over the baby. The infant's heart fluttered quickly like a bird's wings. Addy seemed to have gotten herself turned around and all the way down to the opposite end of the bed. Baskets ranged beneath the platform were stuffed with clouts for the baby and winter covers.  
Aia and Bird were indistinguishable from each other. They had gotten closer, good. There were cases for his flutes on the back shelf and his stringed instruments hung from the wall.  
The other side followed the same pattern. The eldest taking pride of place closest to the great box bed and the fire, counting down until the least in age and power were closest to the entrance.  
Aged Nemeta's sluggish heart rhythm was to the fore with her unfortunate son Quintilius warming her old bones and serving as an aide if she needed to relieve herself during the night. Their staffs were racked above them waiting for the day.  
Brandr snored a bit on the next bench down from Nemeta. Soon he shifted to his side – so no lasting damage done from the blow. Good.  
'Mara lay on the next bench, occasionally flinching when her toddler thrashed around.   
Tod snorted as the little girl flung her arm up and into her mother's face. Ivor seemed to have rolled over to the back wall to get away from his little sister.  
As the youngest, Honey was on the furthest bench tucked around Andy and Buck, the tangle of bodies lightly covered by a linsey-woolsey throw.   
The draugr moved into the nimbus of Honey's sweet scent, led by the strands of their bond.  
Inhale, woman, exhale; inhale, sweet woman, exhale. Tod savored the rich scent. Richer than he remembered. Inhale, rich ripe woman, exhale. If he could get dizzy or drunk he would be falling over right now.  
His back bowed forward as he drew himself up, mine! Inhale, ripeness, sweetness, mine, exhale. What?  
What was different? Honey, the one that cared for him, the one that fed him, the one that played with him, accepted him. One of his people, yes. Why did he feel so protective?  
Over the past two centuries he had learned to depend on his nose as his most reliable informant. Inhale, richly ripe, mouth-wateringly sweet woman smell, exhale. Why was it familiar? He knew what it was...it was what?   
Pregnant!  
Tod crept closer, close enough to steal a sip of the warm air rising from between her breasts. Goddess! She smelled like the beginning of the world. He couldn't resist slipping in behind her.  
“Tod?” She snuggled back into him. “Mmmmm.”  
“You are pregnant,” he whispered.  
“I am? I wondered, but I wasn't sure. That's good then.” Honey turned a little and rubbed her face on his chest.  
“You are distracting me, woman. I need to talk to you.”  
“Awww, I was dreaming about you and me together.”  
“Later, Honey. First, I brought back a stag for the feast and hung him in the bathhouse. It'll be cool enough in there. I put the liver in there too.” Tod sucked his teeth a bit. “I'm afraid that the hunt tore up my tunic, so I used that to wrap the liver.”  
“Don't worry about the tunic, there's an even better one of my father's you can wear for Lugh's feast. The venison will be wonderful, everyone will love that!” Excited, Honey thoroughly kissed his face.   
“Wait, wait,” Tod tried unsuccessfully to gain some space between their faces. “That was the good news.” He lowered his voice back to a whisper.  
“On the way back to the hall I encountered something untoward. There are young draugar on the other side of the mountain and the river, to the south; from what was on the wind it seemed as though there was a battle between them and an old one.”  
Honey sat up so abruptly that he was almost dumped out of bed. “We know of the old one, we have respect for each other but she is a loner. She will not easily give up what is hers.” Frowning, “I'd best tell Nemeta, Cunorix and Verna ...will you fight?”  
“Fight? Fight who?”  
“The incomers. They will be careless and hungry and ravage our area. They have no respect for the old one's territory nor ours. They will raid all the farms around here. We have met roving bands before, they will reeve until the region is bled dry and then move on, leaving devastation. Another reason we have so few people here, we have fought their kind before.”   
◊  
Old hope swelled within Tod's chest. This time. Could he make a difference?  
“Who will fight? You are not many.”  
“Tod, we will all fight, excepting the babies.” Honey rested her hand on his arm “ We are fighting for our lives. Even the littlest will play their part. Old Nemeta is still wicked good with darts.”  
Wide eyed, the dragur looked at Honey. “Darts could be very effective....are they tipped?”  
“Nah, just fire hardened, but very effective against vandals like these. I was nine when I took down my first rogue, idiot charged me.”  
“Nine, you were only nine?”  
“Oh, ya. The young ones all had spears, well kind of. Long ash poles, with fire hardened tips. We made our own. I was very proud when the rogue ran right at me. I braced the butt and got the angle just right. Went right through him.” Honey's voice hardened.  
“They had killed my father that night. I was very happy I had gotten revenge.”  
“I'm sure your father's shade was very proud, he could boast of his daughter's bravery in the underworld.”  
Honey sat up a little straighter at that and wiggled. “I hope he was pleased, he was a wonderfully clever man and I adored him.”  
◊  
Groggily Honey's neighbor said, “Boooph! Elder, why don't you and Honey finish your conversation outside. You might wake the children with your whispering.”  
Abashed and in the habit of obeying the older woman Honey agreed, “Yes, Auntie, that is a good idea,” and tugged Tod out the back door while swinging a shawl over her shoulders.  
“Have you fed tonight, love? You shouldn't go to your rest hungry, it will spoil your mood tomorrow. Besides, I want you to be at your best no matter what happens. There is the festival to complete too.”  
Honey continued to chatter as she drew him across the yard to the weaving shed. Finally, once seated in the dark interior she stroked his arms. “Feed, love, be strong for us tomorrow.”  
They cared for each other gently until they were both satisfied.  
“I will not rest with you this day, Brandr is there and after last night I do not trust him with my existence.”  
Honey knew what a huge thing it was for Tod to trust them with his resting place. When they came upon him it was almost as though he had no idea where to turn and had just had tossed his shattered hope up into the air to drift down as it may. It had settled on them – what a gift.  
◊  
The woman rubbed her face on Tod's shoulder. “So, you think I am pregnant? If the babe is strong will you sponsor it? It would be a great honor.”  
“I will stand for the father, if you like. Since Marten was kin.”   
Honey beamed at him, “That makes me happy, this child will honor you as father and patron..” Honey bowed her head and kissed Tod's hand.  
“Nah, nah; after all you did when I was damaged. I am the one who is indebted. .”  
“Well, let us see how the encounter with the rogues plays out.”  
“Honey, do you know the old one you spoke of before? Could we act in concert?” Tod had learned something of alliances from his time around the Romans.  
“She might agree, she's probably madder than a wet hen right now. She doesn't like being messed with. I only saw her once by chance.   
“It was late and I was the last to finish tying up the grape vines down near the road. I had taken a moment to sit and rewind the cord I'd been using. One of the Roman messengers was jogging along trying to make Confluentes that night. Ha! Suddenly it looked as though he had a child clinging to his back before he staggered and went down. Very quick, she was. When she stood up, fussing with her tunic, I saw she was no child, just a small woman with dark tightly curled hair most of the way down her back. Those curls were so tangled that the mass of them moved as one thing.  
“She looked me right in the eyes as I stood there. I bowed respectfully and she nodded back.”  
“Whooo, Honey, it is a wonder she didn't kill you.”  
“I think she already knew of us, or at least our reputation. She just turned and pitched the man out into the river.”  
“I guess he got to Confluentes eventually.” Tod laughed and slapped his knee. “Eventually”  
“Plllbt, Tod, your sense of humor....you, you are such a dragur!”  
One thing led to another, a nudge led to a tickle, and a tickle led to some friendly wrestling, which led to other things. Which was all very satisfying and left Honey drowsy.  
Tod stared off into the darkness, he thought that he should take the opportunity to have a quick look around and even introduce himself to the old one. Cautiously.   
He'd see what he could find before he went to ground. “I'll be back in time to help with the closing ceremony, my sweet.”  
◊  
Tod rose a little until he could catch the whispered tale of fear and death on the air, then he turned and sped across the river.   
Scents of dead things were borne on the currents coming from the west, he had to move downwind to read the whole story and then jog west to see what had happened. One ravaged farmstead – thankfully not burned – strewn with drained and dismembered bodies. Tcha! As bad as wolves.   
He had to quarter the area before he picked up a trace of the old one. Goddess bless these negotiations, he prayed, lay your cloak of calm and certitude over us.  
◊  
Dawn was close, a few birds rustled in the trees, he could hear their wing feathers rasp as they stretched. He didn't want to rush the old one,that would be dangerous, maybe he should just wait until she noticed him and introduce himself?  
Straightening his back he walked decisively into the small clearing where the old one had crouched on a prominent root, bracketed by her knobby knees, to untangle the battle-trash from her hair. Her fingers moved in a blur as bits of leaves, twigs and body parts rained down around her. While she nimbly worked on the disorder she stared directly at Tod and hissed, her fangs were so prominent they dominated her face. Actually her fangs and her tangled hair appeared to be her face.  
Tod, taking the wisest course, stopped and gravely bowed. “Old One, I am Tod, once of Raetia, now of the Aeturni. We would offer an alliance in order to cleanse this area of vermin, an annoyance for all of us.”  
One moment she was perched on the gnarled tree root like an elf the next she had flashed to her feet and was much closer than she had been. Frighteningly close.  
She was tiny, her head just came up to Tod's shoulder, but wiry strong. Neither the dirt smudges nor her creamy skin could hide her bunched muscles nor her ready stance. Her eyes were huge and dark, her nose proud. As deadly as a caltrop1.  
“Gamoroi, Thalia Gamoroi. One of the Syrakousai.2” Her accent carried something of Corbulo's, it was heavier on the ear, but it rolled like waves. Greek?  
Very old, three times my age – at least. Tod bowed again. “My people said that you know of them and that they have always respected your ways. We anticipate that the rogues might turn towards our side of the river once they have picked the bones of your territory.”  
“They are a pestilence and an infestation of fleas. I understand why you want to join with me but why should I join with you?”  
“Because it is better that your neighbor is an ally rather than an enemy, less time consuming at any rate.  
“This new dark we will celebrate the Lugnasad, would you join us?”  
Thalia's eyes gleamed and she licked her chops. “You have enough minions that you can afford to share?”  
Tod was ready to kick himself, he was young in the ways of the dragur, 'Tura was never around and Corbulo just laughed at his questions.  
“Errm, perhaps I misspoke, our relationship is not the traditional dragur/minion but companionate. We take our sustenance at the same board. We are bonded.  
“The Ancient Semni began the tradition somewhere around the time the Keltoi began moving westward. The bonding became the fabric of our clan around the time the Julian, Caesar was skirmishing with the Chatti.”  
“What? You are bonded to how many? Doesn't that make you crazy?” Thalia was appalled.  
“No problem, their eldest showed me how to muffle it, the Semni worked it out. They are all taught not to rile up the bond.  
“They are also taught how to deal with dragar. They could be formidable enemies if they chose. My favorite ended her first dragur when she was but nine years.”  
“Aaaand, you have a favorite. Your days as dragur are numbered. Humans can be a weakness for us, boy. ”  
“You know, Thalia, come to think about it, their bard might be willing to swap blood in exchange for tales of your travels. He is a good audience.”  
“I would love to hear the story of how you met up with these marvels, but it is very close to dawn and I wish to go to ground. I will meet you here with the new dark!”  
Tod blinked and she was gone, he shook his head. Old, old, old. Back across the river to find his own place to rest.  
◊  
Honey woke sprawled across the wool sacks, disturbed by the cacophony of clanking cowbells; in counter point was the ching, ching, ka ching of the goat bells. The ka-ching was from one of the sedate older does sidestepping the antics of the kids. Then came the muted thunder of small hooves crossing the bridge. It always sounded like a vast horde since it took at least three bounces for the kids to get across, sometimes they did it twice since it had been so much fun.  
“Hon-eee, Hon-eeee! Can we have some of the eggy bread to break our fast?”  
She rolled off the sacks and scrambled to her feet before rubbing her face to chase the sleep away.  
“Hai, I'll be right there, don't you dare touch the eggy bread that is for Lugh.”  
◊  
So the day went, a day of building excitement for the children and scolding from the adults. Don't touch that it's for Lugh's feast. Meanwhile soft cheeses were turned out and salted, berries were picked, new wheat had been ground and now baked into loaves, flowers were cut.  
Honey took an opportunity to whisper to Verna that Tod had warned her about the young dragar on the other side of the river. She in turn took Cunorix aside to give him the news. Both sat for a while with Nemeta to put their heads together. They agreed that it had been really clever of Tod to co-opt the old one's help.   
Under Nemeta's eye the children made corn dollies from barley straw. They would be burnt to symbolize the end and the new beginning for the corn king.  
Central to the hive of activity was the great fire tended by Brandr and the browning disjointed deer. The skull and antlers were prominently displayed on a post for Lugh-protecting-the-harvest to admire.   
All the regular chores had to be done too – although some were surely put off or skimped. The milch beasts had to be tended, that could not wait. Children had to be caught, fed and washed. No one wanted to dress in their best until all the preparations were done for fear of spotting the clean laboriously embroidered linen; so most worked in their subligacula or breech clouts and the women bound their breasts to protect them from hot spatters.  
Traditionally the Lughnasadh was held during the day and the feasting lingered on through the night but because they wanted to include Tod in the final ceremony the beginning was put back and the Aeturni wouldn't begin to feast until the sun was well on its way to the horizon.   
Still abashed from the tongue lashing he had gotten from the elders of the clan, Brandr almost wished that Cunorix had taken his drovers whip to him. It might have been less painful.  
So all day he moved benches and tended fires, helped Bird skin the deer – which he had to admit was a fine animal. All he really wanted was to get back to his smithing and arranging his future. It didn't sit right with him to have a boy lording it over him. Even if he was a dragur he just couldn't get past his stripling's appearance. While he tended to his chores, once in a while he would stop in thought then shake his head. Nope couldn't get his head around it.  
Generous stoops of ale sped the work of setting up the trestle tables, the precious mead would be saved for the toasts and final offerings to Lugh.  
The fruits of the season were laid out on the tables, heaps of golden plums glowed in the westering light, bowls of bramble berries and bilberries glistened with honey and pots of preserved currants offered themselves with small wooden spoons. Discs of Lugh's eggy bread were stacked in crenelations along the center of the table punctuated with the polished tools of the harvest. The smaller children stood guard, chasing the bugs with tansy fronds; although the chance to swat at passers by was not to be missed.  
Everyone took a moment to cruise around the edges of the table sniffing the bounty. Soon pots of fresh beans seasoned with dill and bowls of a festive sallat decked with blue borage flowers, dressed with the best oil and their own vinegar were brought out. Everyone filled their mugs with ale and set to.  
The buck had been fat since he had not yet started the rut. The crackly bits were shared out equally, in the warm light of afternoon everyone's face shone with grease and happiness. The high point for the children was the honeyed slices of yellow bread smeared with berries.   
Old Nemeta took her honey and berries on soft cheese after she grew tired of cutting the meat into the small pieces that her few broken teeth could manage.  
Near dusk the benches were drawn in around the fire and the tables put by.  
Amongst the Aeturni the whispers grew more frequent. After the shadows had settled and the firelight flickered and danced amongst them, people got restless, looking for Tod.  
Impatient, Andy burst out with “My Tod, where my Tod? I want sit my Tod!!!!” she was overwhelmed and tired from the day and wanted her comfort.  
Some of the children had already fallen asleep in a tumble of light and shadow. They'd be woken when Tod arrived.  
One the guard dogs rose and spun out a growl that shivered every one's hair. Muzzles swung towards the south their growls quickly transmuted into a cacophony of thunderous barks. The force of the threat driving the dogs backwards and then aggressively catapulting them forward.  
The hound king, Cunorix rose to stand between the girthy canines, hushing them. “Stand forward so we may see our guests this feast night. I will hold the dogs.”  
◊  
Tod moved into the firelight Thalia stepped silently beside him. They had tidied themselves as best they could, Thalia had even bound her hair up in a traditional style.  
“Greetings, Aeturni, this is Gamoroi, Thalia Gamoroi, one of the Syrakousai. Thalia is a neighbor. Would you welcome her this Lughnasadh?”  
The maiden, mother and crone drew together, their energies hummed. As one they turned to their counselor and nodded.   
Head high the figure stepped forward, “As counselor I bid you welcome Thalia Gamoroi. I am Aeturnos Aðalráðr.” He extended his arm dramatically - he was very good at his role. “These are the Lady's representatives: Nemeta, who speaks for the crone; Verna, the voice of the mother; Disa as the maiden with her acolyte Andala,” who had been edging in Tod's direction and was promptly snatched back to stand beside Honey.  
Standing like one of the Imperial statues in the forum3, palm upwards, Bird indicated Brandr with his tattered crown of last year's barley. “Our blacksmith represents Lugh4 the complement to the Lady, the three faced god of blacksmiths, Lugh of the skilled hand, Lugh the corn king, whom we honor tonight.”

As one the Aeturni rose and bowed their heads to the representative of Lugh, then turned and bowed more deeply to Tod and his guest.  
“Well mannered, I'll give you that,” Thalia whispered rapidly, “you have taught your companions well,” she nodded sketchily towards the humans.  
“Nah, 'twas their first dragur, the Ancient Semni, who taught them. I was fortunate to have them find me.”  
“Augh, sounds like a story in itself.”  
'Tis.”  
◊  
“Thalia Gamoroi, be welcome. Gamli Tod would you like us to offer hospitality to your guest?”  
Not at all sure what that might entail Tod thought that he'd better find out. “Could you explain what that means Counselor?”  
“Erm, would you like us to offer some blood to your guest?”  
“By knife or by fang?”  
“Oh, by knife. Your part of the ceremony, as Lugh's aspect of death, is to symbolically isacrifice the corn king. That will be by fang.”  
◊  
Thalia appeared intrigued; she was old but this was something she'd never heard of. Dragur would sometimes share pets, but these were not pets. As equals, the Aeturni were offering hospitality. This was serious business, she well understood what xenia5 guest-friend hospitality entailed.   
As a human girl millenia ago she would stand on the rocky shoreline of her beloved Syrakousa and wait for the dolphins. They seemed to recognize her and several would stop and chatter. Intuitively Thalia knew that they were intelligent but that their world was so different than hers that they could never be equal. That was how she felt about the Aeturni. Water did not equal air.  
She tried to measure these people from the wizened elder to the smallest babe. They looked at her unafraid, all marked with Tod's scent, all!  
“Why do you not fear me?”  
Nemeta, as was proper, answered. “Our Semni was far older than you, she taught us well; training our strengths and explaining your weaknesses. We protected her day death, she watched our sleep; for long generations we led parallel lives, our worlds keeping pace with each other. We are fortunate now to have found our Tod.”  
All right, mutual respect she could do. She could follow the rules of xenia.  
◊  
Nemeta turned to whisper to Verna, Verna bent to speak softly to Honey, Honey took Andala's hand and quietly instructed: “This next bit will be your part in the ceremony since you are the youngest maiden. I'll show you what to do.”  
Bird piped wild skirling notesii while Aia wove and twisted words around the melody. The Aeturni began to sway and their eyes turned inward in the spirit of the ceremony.  
Glancing over her shoulder at Tod and the enthralled people, Andy stumbled along behind Honey and into the house. Quickly the woman lit one of the lamps with a spills she had seized on the way in. When the flames were full, Honey carried it over to the chest at the foot of the carved bed. Andy held the lamp while Honey prised up the heavy lid. The top flipped back against the bed with a thunk, her swift hands began moving exquisitely embroidered fabrics to one side.   
“Andy, remember where these are, I will ask you to help me air and refold them soon and lay them by with new herbs. These are for ceremonies, vestments for Tod. On the bottom here are special vessels; luckily Nemeta keeps them polished.   
“When I was your age I began playing my part as a maiden, You will hold the ceremonial cup, just as I did. You have a strong soul and I know you will do well.  
“My job has always been the cultivation of herbs and compounding various remedies, Verna is the best weaver that we have ever had, her finest work is stored in here, layered with my herbs. to honor our dragur. Nemeta tends these objects. There are ancient cups, bowls and cauldrons of bronze, even beautiful lamps of alabaster. You and I will have a look through soon.”  
Honey carefully lifted a padded leather bag before replacing the layers of fabric. Once she had closed the chest she unknotted the bag and removed a shallow, two handled, black glazed bowl with the fanged face of the Gorgoneia incised into the tondo at the center.   
“Now Andy, since you are to be the maiden cup bearer, you and Tod will gather the blood for our guest. Come.”  
◊  
Pausing next to Tod, Honey softly advised: ”Andy will carry the cup, start with the eldest, they will use their knives, then you heal the cuts.” She looked expectantly at him.  
He nodded, then rested his hand on Andy's back to guide her to stand before Nemeta. The eldest priestess turned sideways to the fire so all could witness the bloodletting.  
Thalia was startled. The cup that the child carried was very like some of the ceremonial pieces her family had brought from Corinth, those were old even before her people had emigrated.   
Startled enough to step forward, startled enough to interrupt a ceremony.   
“Where did that cup come from?”  
Entranced by the familiar ceremony the oldest stared at her with her smoke reddened eyes, her wrinkles seamed with shadow, Nemeta slowly answered: “Our Ancient Semni retrieved it from the stone halls where she once lived.”  
Still in her sacrificial trance Nemeta turned back towards Tod. Suddenly her blood knife flashed out and cut deeply into her forearm which Tod held extended over the cup.   
A slow count of one, two, three and Tod quickly pressed two fingers over the cut before he bent down to lick the withered forearm, cleaning and healing it.  
Andy carefully moved sideways to stand before Cunorix who unsheathed his blood knife and passed it to Tod. Managing his sacrifice with only one good hand was almost impossible. So the ritual went around the circle, even to the children who didn't have their knives yet. Instead they pressed their fingertips onto Tod's fang and counted out three drops before the dragur healed it for them.  
Concentrating with all her might Andala stepped carefully over to Thalia, Honey right behind her. Bending close, Honey whispered, “Accept our blood as a sign of our good faith … Share our blood as a sign of your good faith … With this blood Thalia Gamoroi we name you friend of the Aeturni …” Andala repeated each phrase faithfully.  
Thalia's eyes were as wide as a pursuivant lemures6. Tod understood that it was his part to drink first as though he were assuring the purity. For a moment he closed his eyes to savor the blend then passed the cup to Thalia who sipped cautiously, then drained it. Tipping the cup back and forth to examine the Gorgoneia in the bowl. Murmuring: it might have come from the same potter's hand as the one in my family's shrine.  
Pulling herself out out of her daze, Thalia thanked them all for their generosity and said that she was astounded that she could still detect the blood of their Ancient Semni. “Her blood lives on in you.”  
Aðalráðr stepped forward, “Thalia, friend, well met. I am usually known as Bird, come sit with us so that we may speak of ancient times.”


	26. Hospitium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bemusedly Thalia stared alternately into the flames and at the shadowed people moving in and out of the firelight. It had been long and long since she had been part of a group surrounding a hearth. Long and long and long lifetimes ago, it might even have been so far back that she was still human and taken refuge with the other rebels amongst the smoking mountains1 of her home. There had been yellow flowers blooming the last time she had stood in the sun.   
> It had been child's play for her maker to snatch her from life and draw her into his world. Metis2 had guided her hand and kept her from even greater harm. The Goddess counseled patience and cunning until she could bring her Master's final death. Ha! Scrofulous dog's turd of a night walker, he thought her a born slave! Plllbt!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> penpractice steers me out of the weeds and keeps me to the straight and narrow. Bless her British heart.

Hospitium  
Bemusedly Thalia stared alternately into the flames and at the shadowed people moving in and out of the firelight. It had been long and long since she had been part of a group surrounding a hearth. Long and long and long lifetimes ago, it might even have been so far back that she was still human and taken refuge with the other rebels amongst the smoking mountains1 of her home. There had been yellow flowers blooming the last time she had stood in the sun.   
It had been child's play for her maker to snatch her from life and draw her into his world. Metis2 had guided her hand and kept her from even greater harm. The Goddess counseled patience and cunning until she could bring her Master's final death. Ha! Scrofulous dog's turd of a night walker, he thought her a born slave! Plllbt!  
Bright eyed, Thalia looked over at Tod balancing the girl child on his knee.   
Andy played with his fingers whilst he talked to his favorite (Honey they called her). Indeed her hair was honey colored, her broad forehead and strong jaw spoke of intelligence and determination. So unlike Thalia's own wiry figure and tangled dark-wood curls – but still – if she had the choosing of a bride for her brother, she would have chosen Honey. The Maiden's priestess would bear strong children and rule the house with an iron fist. Good hips.  
Honey seemed to realize that Thalia's thoughtful gaze was on her; turning her head she smiled and her hazel eyes crinkled at the corners. That's a surprise, but no more surprising than what Thalia'd learned about the rest of this group.  
Deciding to talk to Bird for a while, she shifted over to sit on the bench with him. Aia, who had been a little weirded out by the blood thing, shyly drew aside to make room.  
“So tell me, Bird, how often do you form these alliances? Metis knows, I've never heard tell of them before.”  
“Semni knew many of the Ancients, although she wouldn't share knowledge of our relationship often, occasionally she would ask us to swear friendship and share blood with others. Especially if our territories overlapped. Then they would come together when there was a problem with wolves or rogues or ambitious old ones looking 'to feather their nests'. Once there was a real problem with the wolves and three of the ancients rested together while we guarded their day-death. We were many then.  
“But that oath, 'By Metis', our Semni used it frequently! A kinship perhaps? That would be interesting....” Bird's words trailed off. They were both lost in thought, before Bird roused himself .  
“No matter, permit us to do our dutyi towards you, our guest/friend. The bath house is still warm and we've sent to freshen the water. You and Tod can relax together in the soaking tub. Please, Elder Thalia, in the name of Jupiter hospitalis3, honor us.” Thalia nodded in understanding.   
“Afterwards I hope you'll accept our gift of clothing for the ceremony. We owe thanks to Lugh for his generosity.”  
“Ya, Bird we follow the same laws and own the same Gods, no matter that the names are different. Under the shield of Zeus xenia I accept the obligation.”  
◊  
Honey moved up along side Thalia and Bird as they walked toward the bathhouse. “I have several compounded oils you can choose from, would you prefer lavender, rose, cedar, arnica or plain almond?”  
Tod and Verna caught up to the group.  
“I can vouch for their skills with scent.” With a respectful nod towards Verna and a wink for Honey he praised the Aeturnae “They both have excellent noses for the blending of ingredients.”  
Tod tipped his head to smile fondly at Honey. “Do you have more of that moss and lavender blend?”  
“Tcha, Tod” Honey shook her head, “of course, you said it was your favorite. And it's not just oak moss and lavender – it's got sweet woodruff too.”  
Thalia watched Tod and Honey's expressions as they gently teased one another. Honey remained respectful and Tod still held himself a little apart but it was a warm relationship. Tod would be shattered when she died. All humans died.   
The Syracusean had almost five hundred years longer than Tod to learn that painful truth. Not once, but many times. It was better not to get too attached, even when there was a tactical advantage or an alliance.  
◊  
'Mara jogged a little to catch up. “Here, you need another set of hands to do this properly, let me help.”  
Honey turned and bowed a little in Thalia's direction. “Respectfully, Ancient One, might I introduce to you my cousin Dark Iomara, descended from Eporedorix, the Horse King and fierce Dumnabarra the Dark, a Celt.”

Expressions flickered amongst the group Thalia's full brows knotted, “How then are you cousins? I thought I'd gotten your lineage straight.” 4  
Tod seemed clueless, in contrast the corners of Honey's mouth curled upward and her pale eyebrows seemed as though they were about to dart off her face. “Oh, our great grandfathers were brothers, both sons of Artevalos, hero of the Battle of Teutoberg.”  
Verna tried to appear stern and Bird bit his lower lip realizing that he had forgotten to use the proper diplomatic form for the introductions.  
Their Semni had always led the ritual with her guest/friends and her Aeturni were introduced as equals not pets. Bird had gotten the sharing part right, he'd remembered that much. Tod should have made the introductions, but they hadn't talked about it and he was two centuries away from his human roots, where those formalities would have been part of his every day life as the Priest and Chief's son. Or could it have been that different where Tod came from?  
That stinker Honey had him wrong-footed, and then distracted everybody with talk of kinship. Sly, sly, sly. He caught her eyes twinkling and a smothered giggle. They'd both kicked against their training as priestess and bard and took every opportunity to catch each other out. At least this way the humor in the situation softened the lack of respect he'd shown Thalia and allowed him to retrieve their dignity.   
Bird reluctantly turned back towards Thalia, “My apologies, Ancient One, it has been decades since we have sworn friendship with another. The protocols have grown dim in my mind.”  
“All in good time Aeturnus. I am content to wait.”  
Thank the Gods she'd brushed off the insult. His mistake could have cost them all dearly.  
◊  
Verna motioned them all into the stone walled room. “I hope the soaking tub will be hot enough by the time we have finished tending to your cleansing.”  
Hot enough was the verdict and the dragar lay back in the water to absorb the heat. Thalia chose a simple sweet woodruff and almond oil for her hair which Verna rubbed between her palms, sending the scent into the air, before working it into that inky mop of curls. Bird talked quietly with her, trading old stories, chuckling occasionally while Verna concentrated on tugging a coarse comb through the strands and then taming the wild mess before her with a myriad of small braids.  
◊  
Tod wasn't sure it was such a good idea to have Honey and 'Mara working on him at the same time. Distracting thoughts floated through his mind with every push of their palms, every tug of their fingers along his muscles. Urgh. He needed to keep his mind on the coming ritual and the potential skirmish.  
Of course the young women couldn't resist pulling naughty faces at each other across Tod's back. They were about to explode with the giggles when Thalia stood up ready to dress bringing them back to the moment, it was time to robe their dragur.  
Honey had fetched out her father's best tunic. His sister, Verna, had sewn it using a length of her finest weaving and bordered it with Suicca-the-Good's most colorful tablet5 bands6. A proud garment.  
Tod was suitably impressed when Honey held it out to him.  
“Truly, fit for a king. Thank you dear heart.”  
Verna had decided to bring one of Semni's best robes out for their guest; gossamer fine linen from Egypt, dyed a rich red with a double hand span over-dyed with Tyrrhenian purple for a border. It could have been part of an emperor's wardrobe.  
Thalia was dumbstruck by the value of the magnificent garment as Verna formally begged: “Take this as our guest gift, although it is truly not enough to show how much we value your friendship.”   
It felt good to be embedded in human rituals again. She could almost forget that she'd been dragged into the stagnant leech filled pond of a night-walker's existence.   
◊  
The food had been cleared away and the bonfire re-fueled by the time the dragar were companied back to the circle. Nemeta had overseen tapping a barrel of their best new ale and one of flowery mead, the pitchers stood ready to pour out the first libation.7  
When the circle had reformed, everyone had changed into their best clothing. Tod, and Verna took their places alongside barley wreathed Brandr. They all knew there were some clans in the barbaric east that still followed the old ways, sacrificing the Corn King to bless the fields with his blood and scattered flesh. The Aeturni prided themselves on being too modern, even Romanized, for such primitive beliefs. Their symbols and the prayers still pleased the Gods.  
To show respect, Brandr covered his head with a corner of his best cloak before he grasped the shallow bowl in his outstretched right hand. Verna held a brimming pitcher while intoning: ”The Goddess has generously brought our crops to fruition, and in the fullness of time Lugh of the clever hand has granted our harvest.” Carefully she poured ale into the extended bowl.  
Then it was Tod's turn. “We sacrifice the King so that he may return to the ground to be reborn and renewed.” Seizing the barley wreath that crowned Brandr's head, he laid it in the gleaming bowl, leaving it soaking in the new ale.  
His gaze traveled around the shadowed circle, over the old and young, all held their corn dollies at the ready. He nudged Brandr.  
“We pour this libation to honor the Good Spirit that watches over us,” Brandr declared, whereupon he reverently bowed and tipped the bowl to send his brew soaked crown into the fire, “the sacrifice goes consenting!”  
Many voices shouted, “The sacrifice consents!” as they gave the dollies to the fire.  
Thalia nodded knowingly to herself, in her day it would have been wine mixed with the blood a fine bullock, before then it would have been a handsome youth, but always with consent.  
◊  
Bowls were filled with the ale and passed from hand to hand. Bird shouted “let us salute the Gods with the heart's blood of the Barley King.” A signal for voices to be raised in the ballad.8   
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,  
Of noble enterprise;  
For if you do but taste his blood,  
'Twill make your courage rise.

'Twill make a man forget his woe;  
'Twill heighten all his joy;  
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,  
Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,  
Each man a glass in hand;  
And may his great posterity  
Ne'er fail (our land)

Even Thalia dipped her finger into the ale to show participation. Sweet, bitter and flowery, as was the scent, although the terroir of the herbs added a rocky undertone. Their wine was overly sweet also, too sweet for her tastes, but she might actually have a sip of the new brew – just to be sure she'd gotten the flavors right.   
◊  
Old Nemeta stepped up to pour the next libation, Brandr again covered his head and held the sun hued bowl. Bird spoke the offering.  
“This is for our heroes who walk between the bright surface of generous Gaia and the underworld. For Ancient Semni, for long lived Thalia, and for our beloved Tod. In your names I offer this drink.”  
The ballad was taken up again as more ale was passed around.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood,  
And drank it round and round;  
And still the more and more they drank,  
Their joy did more abound.

Tod watched Thalia actually take a sip from her bowl. It must be because she was so old that she could do that without puking her guts up.  
He was so taken with watching Thalia, Bird had to call him twice..  
◊  
The bard and Honey stood in Brandr's place, an embossed length of leather draped over her left arm. Mild faced she beckoned him. When he stood between them he cocked his head in question. Surprisingly Bird handed him the offering bowl before gently turning him to face the people.  
Honey whispered, “right hand, hold it in your right hand.”  
Duh, he was a priest, he should have known that!  
Bird spoke for the third time. “This offering is for endings and new beginnings. Tod has bound himself to us the Aeturni and we have sworn fealty to him. Now we pass to him the cloak and aegis of our Semni, may it carry her blessing.”  
Honey filled the shining bowl from a fresh pitcher containing honey wine. Tod bowed his head properly and threw the wine on the fire.  
Again she whispered, “Try to drink that last drop yourself, you should be fine.”  
When it was done, the bowl was passed back to Nemeta who took careful charge of the sacred object.  
Not sure of what was coming next, Tod had settled on holding his best stony expression when four handedly Bird and Honey opened out the finished side of the goat skin to exhibit faint embossing of scales and the Gorgoneion.   
Involuntarily Thalia gasped. She hadn't expected to see such a sacred object here in the back end of nowhere. Was that Amaltheia's hide9 or had Semni stolen the cloak from the breast of Alexander?  
Hair side out, the cousins draped the cloak over Tod's shoulders and pinned it in place with the great Gorgoneion boss.  
He couldn't help himself, the young dragur was drawn to run his fingers over the worn indentations in the hide. He could feel that the designs had been refreshed once or twice, perhaps now it would be his turn.  
“Now, Tod, you act under the aegis of Semni and the Aeturni. May your gaze be as powerful as Medusa's and your wrath as devastating as the Sky God's.”   
Bird seized Tod's shoulders and kissed each of his cheeks then moved over to salute Thalia with a firm, “Welcome Guest.”  
◊  
By the time the last of the people had embraced their guest the children were stumbling and whining a little with fatigue and the adults were a little slaphappy from the strong drink.   
Someone called “Bird, Aia! Some music to finish off the night!”  
Thalia, too was a little punchy, she must have been to ask the bard if he had a tamburello10, which she had played as a girl.  
Indeed he did, he'd had it out for Aia to practice on.  
“D'you mind? It's got a lot of jingles 'round the sides?”  
Thalia struck it a few times and gave it a rattle to get a sense of the instrument before she nodded.   
Bird pulled out his pipes for a bit of a toodle and Aia cleared her throat.  
“We're all set then?” Off they went with a gay bouncing melody.  
In two heartbeats the crowd was off, feet thudding in time with Thalia's rhythm, shoulders leading into each measure.  
The children livened up enough to dance a couple of rounds while the toddler gaily held her arms up and stomped in her own little circle, the baby just bounced enthusiastically.  
Soon enough the little ones had crumpled into sleepy heaps and the adults took turns carrying them to bed.  
◊  
The bonfire had died to bright coals by the time the children were settled and everyone drew the benches close for a council of war.   
Many folk had lit fires to celebrate the Lugnasad and the rogues had a multitude of flickering beacons to attract their attention. No doubt it would be several nights before they turned to this side of the river.   
The dragar would track them just to be sure. If there was a good opportunity they would take them out.   
Thalia had the impression that there were quite a few, maybe as many as nine rogues destroying the countryside. There would never be enough blood for that many – what stupidity to band together like that. They were probably half crazed with hunger.  
The humans swore they would see to their arms, make sure that there were plenty of darts and sharpened poles. It was good that the wood had already seasoned and the tips just wanted heat treating. Even simple Quintilius was handy with a sickle but was too easily provoked. Normally he was very good but he had to be carefully managed.  
Close to dawn they advised each other to “Stay sharp!” and parted, the Aeturni to their beds and the dragar for a quick look-see at the other river bank.  
◊  
Nights passed, Thalia and Tod trailed the scent of death, which lay heavily in the night, keeping track of the rogues. Rumor had it that bandits were slaughtering the country folk and making off with what they could. There were holes in that theory but it was the best anyone could come up with.  
Periodically the red cloaked soldiers marched through, but since they mostly patrolled during the daylight hours it was not surprising that they couldn't find more than burnt barns and hungry livestock.  
Tod preferred to keep company with Thalia, she kept his darkness at bay. He didn't like being alone with the madness of the rogue dragar. They passed the time speaking of their homes, neither had revisited their birthplace. Tod vowed to spend time amongst the true mountains soon. That glimpse from the top of this plateau had made him ache for his home alp.   
Thalia had never gone back, she feared seeing how far great Συράκουσαι (Syracuse) had slipped from its glory. She had been dragged away from her homeland before it bloomed; before Archimedes the great engineer, Sappho the poet or Aeschylus the playwright lived there. But she'd heard the stories and was proud. Surviving to hear of her country's glory was the only thing that made her happy about being a night walker. The rest sucked. Absolutely.  
Tod was good company though, he could keep his mouth shut and was willing to fuck if she was in the mood.  
Traveling wasn't bad if someone had your back.  
Still, this pussyfooting around in back alleys trolling for a meal did nothing for their spirits. A good battle would lift their sour mood.   
◊  
Every evening, soon after they rose, they visited the place of the Aeturni to spar and go over strategies. Both Tod and Thalia were proficient archers and trained the young mothers and older children with weapons they could wield from shelter. Bird, already well versed with the bow, guided the youngling's practice for hours each day.   
Brandr was well known to be deadly with the quarterstaff and was happy to engage Tod or Thalia of an evening, they all learned something; Honey and Verna refreshed their skills against each other then turned to Brandr for a two on one. No fairzies? - too bad, this battle would be life and death.  
Imaginary battle lines were drawn, plans and positions were revised. If the rogues were seen to be heading towards their home they were determined to have enough warning and get into position.   
It was decided that for the duration Cunorix and the dogs would keep the cattle up in the pastures. There was no reason for the mad ones to bother the cows and goats except through sheer meanness – and if the barns were burnt, well at least they would still have the livestock.  
So they waited, and every evening there would be the smell of smoke and dead things – not just hearth fires, but hair, cloth and leather burning too.  
◊  
Three nights, then four. There were families on the roads, fleeing the 'bandits', thinking to take refuge in a city until the threat had moved on. No real information though; and no idea where they went to ground.   
Every place on the other side of the river that Thalia had made her own had the rogue's stink on it, had been overturned and fouled. She didn't dare rest anywhere over there.   
Old Nemeta thought that perhaps they had enthralled blood slaves, which is what made them so dangerous. Such minions, neither dead nor alive, were able to be up and about during the day but preferred to skulk in the shadows. Snarling pye-dogs11, guarding their masters.  
Thalia looked straight at one of the oldest human beings she had ever seen. “How is that different from what you do?”  
Nemeta looked right back at her, unafraid, the mind behind those hooded eyes understood more than it now saw, her seamed face kept her emotions hidden within the wrinkles.  
“It's magic, like all magic it is bound by intent. We are bound by the intent to protect and prosper,” she turned stiffly to look out over the river, “Greed, perhaps, power surely.”  
◊  
Tod liked the sparring, it felt good to learn something new - neither he nor Thalia had ever had much chance to do work with a quarterstaff. Maybe it was because they hailed from bare mountainous slopes with many vantage points and clear lines of sight. In the more wooded lower areas it was a snap to make or replace a quarter staff – one did need a longish bit of good oak that could be sawn lengthwise. One night Thalia told him of the staffs carried in the Pirenèus, that impassible range to the south west. They were mysteriously carved and made of medlar12. Although a herder's crook could be used to much the same effect.... his home alp with the occasional twisted stone pine, was more suited to bowmanship. Thalia was pretty handy with a spear too. Deadly actually.  
So he crouched to one side of the fire lit practice area, forearms balanced on his knees watching Brandr surprise Thalia again and again. They'd both stripped down to the basic subligacula, Thalia also left her strophium in place, she'd said tits were such a bother in a fight.  
Brandr hadn't come up against an actual dragur before – he'd been born thirteen years after their Semni had met her final death – so he sparred against a legend. Even so, her preternatural speed didn't prevent her from running afoul of his staff.   
◊  
The firelight created silhouettes of them both, Thalia's pallor and singing braids made them look even more like a highlighted Corinthian black figured piece. That asshole legate had been so enamored of anything Greek that he would pose with his cherished vase whenever he entertained foreign delegates. He thought it made him look cultured. Bleeecccch. Tod didn't like thinking of that time so he looked beyond the sparring partners to the children play fighting on the other side of the fire.  
Better, the sight provoked good memories, he and Artos boasting of the damage they would do to the Romans, threatening to strike them thus, pow!; smack their swords aside, thwap! Send their arrows true to the target, bzzzpt!   
Verna watched keenly as Buck and Ivor feinted and dodged with the best of them, occasionally advising the combatants to correct their stance. Addy and Andy waited their turn just outside the bit of sand used as the children's arena.   
It was a bit of a challenge to watch the children through the rapidly dancing limbs of Thalia and Brandr. Brandr stumbled more and more frequently, while Thalia stayed energized and was bouncing on the balls of her feet.  
Tod was surprised when Verna strode over to take the smith's place, he thought perhaps she was a bit too stiff to take a dragur on. “I may be slow, but I still need to practice. Would you indulge me Ancient One?”   
Thalia cocked her head then nodded; they began with warm up exercises and basic strikes. Verna's form was still perfect, but she was creaky.  
◊  
The anticipation made the wait seem longer. Tension kept their sleep light and the elders feared they'd grow stale. But like every event, in retrospect it seemed to rush upon them.  
Moments stood out.   
When Tod dropped down through the smoke hole to alert them before resuming his post . They seized their weapons before they were truly awake and their expectation thrummed to a crescendo, everyone's heart beat faster until the peak of battle lust seized them and darkened their eyes.  
The first scream jolted those in the long house. That sound was to echo in their ears long after the skirmish had done.  
Of course Thalia drew first blood. And second.  
The Aeturni had braced themselves for when the ragged minions crashed into their home. The invaders only froze briefly at the array of bristling spear points and sharpened knives.  
Cunorix, who had come down from the high pasture, and all set to loose the dogs, peered around the yard, there was nothing to see but a blood spattered furore. Neither Thalia nor Tod could be distinguished in the melee. The dogs were frantic, their powerful barks joining the clangor. The Hound Master hauled on their collars until they faced the inside of the house and the backs of the minions. Sic 'em!  
Then Nemeta, who had decided to reassure herself of the back door, came up against two of the minions. They foolishly dismissed the stooped ancient and found themselves skewered together by the warrior's spirit hiding amidst the arthritic joints. “Hai!” were her last words, it was as she would have wanted it.  
It was all over but the shouting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> William Smith, D.C.L., LL.D.:   
> A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, John Murray, London, 1875.   
> HOSPI′TIUM (ξενία, προξενία). The hospitality of the Romans was, p621as in Greece, either hospitium privatum, or publicum. Private hospitality with the Romans, however, seems to have been more accurately and legally defined than in Greece. The character of a hospes, i.e., a person connected with a Roman by ties of hospitality, was deemed even more sacred, and to have greater claims upon the host, than that of a person connected by blood or affinity. The relation of a hospes to his Roman friend was next in importance to that of a cliens (Gellius, V.13). According to Massurius Sabinus (ap. Gellium, l.c.), a hospes had even higher claims than a cliens. The obligations which the connection of hospitality with a foreigner imposed upon a Roman were to receive in his house his hospes when travelling (Liv. XLII.1), and to protect, and, in case of need, to represent him as his patron in the courts of justice (Cic. in Q. Caecil. Divin. c20). Private hospitality thus gave to the hospes the claims upon his host which the client had on his patron, but without any degree of the dependence implied in the clientela. Private hospitality was established between individuals by mutual presents, or by the mediation of a third person (Serv. ad Aen. IX.360), and hallowed by religion; for Jupiter hospitalis was thought to watch over the jus hospitii, as Zeus xenios did with the Greeks (Cic. c. Verr. IV.22, ad Quint. frat. II.12, pro Deiotar. 6), and the violation of it was as great a crime and impiety at Rome as in Greece. When hospitality was formed, the two friends used to divide between themselves a tessera hospitalis (Plaut. Poen. V.2.87, &c.), by which, afterwards, they themselves or their descendants — the connection was hereditary as in Greece — might recognise one another. From an expression in Plautus (deum hospitalem ac tesseram mecum fero, Poen. V.1.25) it has been concluded that this tessera bore the image of Jupiter hospitalis. Hospitality, when thus once established, could not be dissolved except by a formal declaration (renuntiatio, Liv. XXV.18; Cic. in Verr. II.36), and in this case the tessera hospitalis was broken to pieces (Plaut. Cistell. II.1.27). Hospitality was at Rome never exercised in that indiscriminate manner as in the heroic age of Greece, but the custom of observing the laws of hospitality was probably common to all the nations of Italy (Aelian V.H. IV.1; Liv. I.1). In many cases it was exercised without any formal agreement between the parties, and it was deemed an honourable duty to receive distinguished guests into the house (Cic. de Off. II.18, pro Rosc. Am. 6).


	27. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aeturni and their beloved elder defeat the rogues at a price. Tod plays his part as the torch is passed to the younger generation.

This chapter was a bear to research but I hammered at it until I felt I'd don right by the story and its readers. As always penpractice deserves bounteous proise for pulling me out of the deep end.

Going Home

 

The next night the waning moon rode high – to the dragar it was as bright as mid-day. It had not risen until late in the evening, presaging the sunrise by only a few hours. The air was clear with only spectral bits of ground mist drifting along the river gorge.

Thalia and Tod were feeling satisfied, relieved and mischievous after having erased the rogues. Time for a little amusement to wash away the deaths. 

They’d hoped not to lose any of their own but it _was_ inevitable that Nemeta would die. She was human, she had been incredibly old, yet she still had the strength to die a hero. Tonight they had buried her in a grave dedicated to those who served the Goddess. She would live in memory, his and Thalia's too.

◊

Tod truly did not want to think about the battle last night. Some parts were exciting, yes, and he'd gotten to relax his grip on his anger and just let it fly. That felt good, but it still left a bad taste in his mouth.

No, not the anger, Nemeta's blood. She'd gotten badly hurt when she'd impaled the knob jointed minions, they hadn't died immediately and she'd gotten thrown about. Brave woman. When he offered her his blood to heal she'd said no, she was ready to move on, it was time for her to explain the last ritual to him.

“You are to drain me, so that my blood lives on in you. Our Semni gave me her blood when I was born, you are to take it as I die.”

He was already full; full of regrets and anger. He wanted to do her honor. Perhaps......now that he was the priest of endings, even though he no longer could initiate life but he could surely gently take it and ease the soul onward.

“I can do this. Have you said farewell to your kin?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “I will greet our fore-bearers and kiss Ancient Semni on both cheeks.”

Tod bent low to murmur “Salute the Ancient One for me. Look at me Nemeta, you will go be with the ancestors gladly and you will feel no pain.” With which he bent even lower and put his lips to her neck, after a moment she sighed one last time and was still.

◊

As Tod eased Nemeta’s passing, Quintilius wailed and tore at his clothes. The racket was deafening. Thalia led him off to a corner, quickly seized his meager will and left him sleeping. Even Thalia could only stare at the patterned light and dark while repeating “They always die, all of them. Sooner or later they all die.” The dragar retreated into the shadows to let the humans do what they must.

Verna grunted at the effort it took to lever herself up by pressing against her thighs. It had been a long day and a longer night and she'd gotten stiff sitting, waiting for the end. People were milling about, knowing there was work to do yet mostly too wrung out to do it. It was up to her to take charge now.

“In the morning, the men will dig her grave in the morning. Now we will lay her out in the bath house – it is cool there.” She turned to Honey using a more elaborate address due to the formality of the occasion.

“Disa now that you represent the Mother you will help, and you Maiden Andala will help also.

“Iomara, as her direct granddaughter, search out the shroud she wove for herself and I'm sure you know where to find the grave clothes and the ornaments she'd put aside.

“Cunorix,” indicating her partner with her chin, “will decide which pig will be slaughtered for the funeral feast on the third day.

“Tomorrow children, with the help of the the Maiden we will show you which plants to gather to help the old one's journey. Even the littlest must have a part. Billi, help them tomorrow, be sure to cut enough yew and cypress. Have Andala pick both yarrow and vervain – as much as you can easily find.” 

The babies had already burrowed under the covers of their bed places, their elders were sagging where they sat. 

The Aeturni settled down as they understood that no one was to be left adrift, they all had their part to do tomorrow.

◊

On the way back to their resting places Tod and Thalia decided to scout quietly along the cliffs. Fairly quickly the tell-tale ammonia scent of accumulated bird droppings led them to a colony of rock doves. Perfect timing, there were plenty of barely feathered squabs to be had. Tod drifted downwards to capture more than a dozen. They made an odd writhing lump in the gathered up front of his tunic, whilst behind him the parents fluttered and cooed agitatedly.

Clouds of dust and scree followed Thalia in her downwards scramble, if she'd needed to breathe she would have been sneezing up a storm. Towards the base of the cliff Thalia's form cleared within the roiling particles just before she turned and jumped free of the cascade.

◊

Once they’d found the right basket in the pantry they’d tucked the squabs away and stored them in the cool room at the rear of the long house.

“It is Brandr I don't trust,” Tod had growled, staring toward the other end of the house, “I liked resting with Honey or Bird, it was quite nice. Never Brandr.”

“You. Rested. With. Humans?” Thalia reared back and gave him a _have you lost your mind_ look. “What on the face of the Goddess's green earth possessed you to do that?”

“Oh, I didn't tell you?

“They found me staked to a cliff face. It was almost as if they'd gone to a market looking for me – they were that pleased by their find.”

Thalia's nose actually twitched, “Over the past seven centuries I thought I'd seen some strange things. Never anything this odd. The Fates spun a long many colored thread when you were born. The kinks and bends are all part of its making.”

“My uncle called it my wyrd, cast by the three Ladies – much the same as the Fates – I was a priest mostly to the Mother and the Maiden when I was human. They must love me well.” Tod sighed and smoothed the dust with his sandal. “I seem to be meant to serve the Crone now.”

“Be that as it may, Tod, why did you rest with the humans?”

“Oh that. I was pretty damaged.

“You see my eye? Still a little scarred, it was taken. My hand and both feet too. Maliciously Corbulo even pulled my fangs. One or the other of the humans rested with me to be sure I was safe and to offer me blood as soon as I woke.

“My brother'd made sure I couldn't survive on my own. The three gave me their own blood until they could find a better source. Often they would bring me back a breather that needed to vanish or had been gravely injured.”

“Tod, it is almost dawn, if it weren't I'd stay and force you to tell me the rest.”

Thalia had vanished in a swirl of leaves, Tod fled in the other direction just as the sky brightened over the dark forests to the east. .

◊

The next was an in-between sort of a day that didn't start well for Verna. Everyone was exhausted from the fight and even more exhausted from the let down afterwards. But still they had to pull themselves together, get ready for the Old One's burial that evening and then prepare Andala to put on the Maiden's robe the next evening. She and Honey/Disa would step into their robes too. 

Poor child she was over young for the responsibility, six or seven would have been better. Verna thought _she herself_ was young for her new responsibilities as the Crone. Well, needs must, even if she was younger than Nemeta and didn't think she'd ever learn enough to fill the role. _So much to do right now._

Then more to-do the day after since it would be third-day after Nemeta's death and they would have to gather for the feast and make offerings for her shade's easy passage.

 _Son of a dildo_ “What trickster left this basket in the walkway? Right smack in the middle where someone would stumble over it!”

The basket burbled.

Verna'd just woken up, barely had her eyes open, she hadn't even pissed yet. Then she'd barked her shin and the stupid basket **burbled** at her! Maybe if she went back to bed...........no, not with the way her bladder ached.

Stolidly she picked the basket up and carried it to the doorway where there was more light. 

“Pssssht, squabs. Must have been Tod.” Her posture relaxed and the corners of her mouth quirked up, she never could be angry with him very long. He had a way about him.

“First things first.” and Verna determinedly set out for the latrines and the rest of her day.

◊

Verna woke Quintilius next – he would be tremendously upset if she had forgotten how important his job was. Goddess forfend, she had no time to soothe an upset Quin today.

“Quintilius, Quin, you must get up. It is late and you haven't told the bees our important news. Hurry, you know you must be the first one out there. You have so much to say you'll be there until afternoon.”

Quintilius was blessed with a luxuriant beard and formidable eyebrows, more than enough to make up for his bald pate. Trying to wake he rubbed them all briskly until he looked like a brush pile before peering around, confused.

“Mama, where's Mama? I have to help her in the mornings. I'm her helper.”

“She's dead, Quint, you have to tell the bees.”

“Yes, I have to tell the bees or they will be angry and leave. No more honey. I have to tell the bees.” Righting his clothing as he stumbled out the door, heading for the bee skeps.

◊

Right what’s next?

“Bilia, as soon as you all come back from the gathering please show the children how to make the wreaths, Andala must be the one to weave the cedar with the yarrow and vervain. I will help Honey twist the Mother's wreath and she will show Andy how to weave the flowers for the Maiden.

The women had been in no shape to deal with the body last night. This day Verna gathered all of them, all ages together to help prepare the one who had been Nemeta for the grave. The rigor had worn off by the time they came together in the bath house, the children with robust herbs, 'Mara with her grandmother's grave clothes, Honey brought the entire kist filled with sacred things since she wasn't sure what would be required. Neither Honey nor Andy had seen the ritual for the burial of a priestess and it was her place to instruct them. All of them.

◊

  
  


“Mind Bili, mind the draft!” Honey sheltered the lamp flame with her palm. The girl-children and their bouquets were silhouetted against the noonday sun before Bili shooed them into the room.

“Aia light those lamps, we will need them for our work.

“Honey? Will the wax be ready?”

“Just about Auntie, it seemed a little stiff before, I think I need to add a few more drops of oil as it heats.”

She had the bowl on a trivet over a lamp which gave off just enough gentle heat for Honey to mash at the contents as she added the oil, one drop at a time. Soon the room smelled as much of beeswax and almonds as it did of strong herbs and death.

Honey stared into the dim room permeated with the unmistakable, unforgettable, scents. Long ago she'd helped to prepare her father's body (he'd died avenging Semni), he was the first. Years later, her mother. Although by that time Mama didn't look like Mama any more, she'd just looked old.

She who had been Nemeta was easier, she'd never known her when she wasn't old, so she didn't have to make peace between what she touched and saw before her and what she remembered. _Gloomy, I'm supposed to be glad she died a hero. Huh!_

Honey set aside the wax for after the mold was finished and rubbed her hands on her thighs _._

“Are you ready for me Auntie? Is her face all greased? Andy, come watch. You will need to help some day.”

The girl pulled a face, “Smell bad!” but she drew closer.

Verna sniffed, they'd all been a little weepy, “Dead things do, that is why we use the strong herbs and bury them quickly. She who was the crone will soon be resting in the ground and it will be fine.”

“Here you feel a bit of this wax, first we must make a plaster mold so that later we can make the funerary mask to place with the images of the ancestors.”

Andy was fascinated by the greasy, slippery _waxy_ feel of the lump. She was even more entranced when she found that she could flatten it out onto her palm and then peel it off in one sheet.

Turning to the task at hand, Honey rallied. “'Mara, bring me that sack of plaster and the bucket of water. Gather the feathers and leave the little rabbit tail brush.”

“Pay attention dearie, hand me that cloth. That's right, the wispy one.” Verna stretched out her arm to snag the gauze.

“Stirring stick! 'Mara, start stirring whilst I sift – slowly.”

Fine plaster trickled from Honey's fingers, handful by creamy handful, as 'Mara steadily moved the stick round the bottom of the bucket. Everyone's tongue was furred with the salty chalk drifting around the room and soon their nose hairs were coated with it.

“Slow, slow don't break it. Stop! Before it sets. Here we go.”

“Verna – the strips ready?

“Now, Andy listen, first Verna puts wool oil on the face so that the plaster mould comes off easily. Next we dip the strips of gauze in the plaster and lay them across, just so. Then another layer criss-crossing that. Place them so that the crosswise of the fabric wants to bend around the eyes and over the brow. Tap gently over the lips so the plaster can catch the spirit of her face – but not so firmly that you mush her features. There that will hold the mold together nicely.

“See, I blow on the little bubbles so they don't mar the mold

“Now you can help Andy, take a feather, dip it in the plaster and paint it over the mold. I'll do some too.”

They worked quietly for a moment, Andy rather liked painting with the gloppy stuff.

“Ooops, this is setting let me hurry this up a bit.” Honey scooped handfuls of the solidifying mixture and patted them over the surface until suddenly it began to crumble off in chunks.

“Well, that's all we are getting out of this batch. Let's go wash up and eat our day meal while this cures.”

As they left Andy and got a look at the body with the scary white lump on her face and she shivered.

◊

The girl was quiet during the meal and only picked at her food. 'Mara noticed and sat closer, “What is it lovey? You aren't eating. Are you upset?”

The dark cloud of curls bobbed, “Yesss.” She continued to stare at her knees.

“Are you tired?”

The curls swished sideways.

“Are you sad?”

Her shoulders lifted.

“Are you frightened?”

Andy's head bobbed again. “Scary,” she mumbled into her tunic.

“What is scary?”

“Da body with the white stuff onna'ts face.

“Issa ghos'! Don' wanna go back in 'der.”

“Alright love, we'll talk to Honey, she'll help you.”

Honey sat further down the bench, finishing her sketchy repast. Everyone had been too busy to make a proper meal so they had a soup with greens, some soft cheese, green onions and bread. It was enough.

“Hey 'Mara, what's going on with our little maiden there?” She bent lower. “Not so happy. Tch, tch,” she clicked her tongue.

“Today is difficult, we have lots of work to do before she who was our Crone can be buried and we can get on with things.”

“Ne....”

“Shush, don't say that name, you might call her back. She has begun her journey.” Andy looked even more spooked and Honey tried to soothe her.

“After the ninth day we can speak to her again since she will have transmuted into one of our _manes._ _1_

“Our Tod will talk to her then and we will show you how to tell her important things.”

“Nooooo, she's ghos', she will bring me ba' dreams.”

“Oh, lovey not our oldest, she is one of the good manes, she is our lares, we are giving her proper respect and a good burial; she will look after us from her place in the underworld.

“When it is our turn to make the journey to become manes the oldest will meet us and show us the way. We will all be there waiting for you.”

“Even our Tod?”

“Not exactly, Tod is our Penate, the spirit of the Aeturni. He has one foot in the underworld and one foot in the world of the living – so he is both. He is the anchor for our bridge to the _di inferi._ _2_

“We stand on the sunlit side of the bridge and Tod stands with the moon and stars.”

Andy was blinking gravely and frowning through the whole explanation. 

Bucky had sidled up after he had noticed his sister was worried. “Our Mama was afraid of the wandering souls. She said they would suck the life from us and leave us empty shells doomed to wander too.”

“She said.” Andy echoed.

“I must warn you that all dragur are not like Tod, there are some bad ones, the untethered. They are known as the _lemures_ 3 and they are frightening creatures. Tod is not, he is our own, the Crone is not, we show her affectionate respect and she will help Tod protect us.”

Andy bobbed her head decisively. “Later, you will 'splain it me again?”

“Yes lovey, I will

“Time to get back to work.”

One by one the Aeturni fed the last bits of bread and soup to the dogs and turned back to their preparations.

◊

It was time to raise the plaster from the face of she who had been their matriarch.

Kneeling, Verna positioned herself on one side of the head and Honey on the other. The new matriarch always seemed so perfectly calm and composed.

Honey wiped her forehead against her arm before resettling her headscarf. She never could get that thing to sit right, it was always getting knocked one way or another and sliding off the back.

The women's eyes flicked back and forth between each other and the mask. “Ready, lift!” They said in unison.

“Not bad, we got good detail. Come look!”

“Even the eyelashes.”

“Ooooh, lookit.”

“Now we let it dry, then tomorrow we cast the clay.”

  
  


Verna busied herself cleaning the old woman's face of the plaster smudges and crumbs, using a soft cloth to absorb the wool grease that remained.

“Iomara, the grave clothes!” They had been specially made by the old woman herself. She would add bits of embroidery and decoration as the fancy took her. Each embellishment was part of her story, illustrating more than a century of tales. Even in some places illuminated by precious silk thread. _Now where did she come by that, it is worth its weight in gold._

The long tunic opened at the back so that it could be easily slipped over the arms.

'Mara and Honey lifted the frail body while Verna and Billi unfolded the shroud to lie beneath it.

“Andy, come help us arrange this beautiful dress and I'll tell you what the pictures mean.”

Laying out the belt and her grandmother's favorite jewelry 'Mara looked up at Verna, “What d'ya think? I know she wanted the belt, but which earrings would be best?”

“Well niece, she always wore the twisted gold, but she told me that it was because the discs were too delicate to wear every day.”

“I think the armband her father, Marobodunis, the Big Raven, gave to her should be on her wrist. She cherished that.”

“Nah, she told me that she wanted you to have it, to keep it within her lineage. Pass it to your daughter.”

◊

Soon there was nothing left to arrange, the herbs had been tucked within the folds of her skirt, a coin for her passage was slipped between her lips, yew and cypress had been hung from the lintels of each building. Now they sat waiting while everyone filed in to pay their respects.

Still they waited.

At dusk Tod and Thalia appeared at the door of the bath house, and bowed briefly to the former Crone's remains.

Verna motioned them to accompany her over near the edge of the plateau where once the earth giants had struggled, pushing one great block of stone into the other, bracing pink rock up against gray. Something about the strife within parts of the cliff felt odd, disturbing.

“Elders, I should have brought this to your attention earlier, you might, perhaps find this useful at some time or another.

“Here along the sacred path lie the holy ones, their faces to the setting sun. They stand watch over this entrance to the chthonic realm. It also serves as a safe place to keep the death masks of our ancestors. It is where we come to beg for intercessions from our manes.

“Our Semni said it was quite deep and she'd never come to its end.”

A look of startlement flashed across Thalia and Tod's faces. _Inaudibly they whispered why didn't we look over there? It is a wonder we weren't ended! An unprotected flank._

“Do not blame yourselves for not seeing this. Semni had a most skilled witch lay a 'don't see me – turn away' spell over this corner. We learned how to renew it every year.”

“May we go inside Verna?” Tod hesitated and looked over at Thalia, “We won't need a lamp, I think we are just going to take a look.”

  
  


They didn't need a lamp, although they would, even with their spectacular vision, if they went much beyond the triangular entrance.

The first 'room' was filled with shelves and steps from the layers of rock slipping, one past the other. Someone had taken the time to level the floor and some of the shelves. Masks ringed the walls; faces of the ancestors slept eternally, looking inward. Runes had been scratched into the living rock to give names to the masks that rested above them.

Verna had slipped in behind them carrying her lamp. “Elder, your task is to mark the names of those that have passed. With your great strength it should be easily done.”

“Beyond that rock fall, Semni said that the cave goes on quite a distance.”

With wide eyes the dragar regarded at the circle of masks. They seemed to float in the darkness just above shoulder height.

“We refresh the paint on them regularly to keep them with us. It would be sad to forget any of our own.”

They paused, absorbing the silence, smelling the ancient dust.

“Well, we should be getting on with things Verna.” The small clicking of pebbles against rock echoed eerily as they shuffled out of the cave.

“Tod, the new Maiden has the Aegis waiting for you. It is usually best to hang it above the cave since there is to be a sacrifice over the grave.”

Tod absently nodded as he looked around for Andy.

The men had carried the woman's body over on a wide board. The shroud had already been sewn closed except for the bit that would cover the face. The remaining cloth would not be drawn over her face until she was in the earth. This way they could all say that they'd all seen her buried and there would be no mistake in their minds that they'd shown her proper respect.

Verna had coached Tod on the ceremony. It was similar to those that he'd attended as a stripling.

As the people drew close to the grave they instinctively stood away from the sacred path running between the entrance of the cave and the western edge of the plateau. Tod led Andy and Honey to take their places fronting the crowd; Verna was fussing with the wreaths over to the side. When she walked back she brought four wreaths with her.

Excitedly Andy said to Honey “I ma' dat one wit' da wheat, I put da fowers innit.”

“Ya, it is beautiful, lovey.'

“Booful!”

◊

From Verna, Tod took the wreath that was a mass of wildflowers, the bunches punctuated with stalks of green wheat and a few sprigs of cypress. Moving to crouch before Andy he spoke softly.

“Here is the wreath of the Maiden. The joys of your maidenhood are bound by your responsibilities, the wheat is to signify that you are moving towards fruitfulness and the cypress is to remind us all that out of death comes life and life proceeds towards death, ad infinitum.” with which he placed it on her unbound hair.

Andy's eyes rolled upwards in an effort to get a look at what was poking her forehead.

 _D'ya remember what to say lovey?_ Honey whispered _._

Tod scooped the Maiden up so she could extend a second wreath over the tightly braided crown of Honey's hair.

“Here is da wreat of da Motha, the time of yo' Maid'nhoo' 's dun (Honey kept whispering her lines) Yo' wear wheet 'cause a' yo' fruitfi'ss.” At which point she gave up and buried her face in Tod's chest.

“Try some more lovey.”

“Fro' da' Maid'n cums da' Motha and new lif'.” rushing forward, “fro' deaf cums lif', ad somtin'.” and The Maiden scrunched the wheat and flowers down over Honey's braid before bursting into tears.

With the Maiden's head buried in death's shoulder Tod moved to his place alongside Verna in time to hear Honey intone:

“Here is the wreath of the Crone, your peace and serenity is bound by your responsibilities, The cypress and the yew signifies that you stand on the threshold of becoming one of the _[di inferi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Di_inferi), _ the scattered stalks of wheat are in memory of your fruitful time and the few flowers are your memories of maidenhood. These are reminders that out of death comes life and life proceeds towards death, ad infinitum.” Honey settled the wreath on Verna's tightly coiled silver hair.

Now it was Verna's duty to rest the wreath on the Elder's head. Raising the circlet of dark evergreens that had been threaded with late blooming golden asphodel and scarlet cords. _I hope I remember this right._

“Here is the wreath of our chosen Gamli, our Elder, our guide to _[di inferi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Di_inferi). _ The evergreens symbolize your unending existence, the asphodel is for the waters of memory and the plane of our meeting. The scarlet cords represent our blood tying you to the human experience and binding you to your responsibilities. As death you balance our triad of life.”

Tod set the Maiden back on her feet next to the Mother. He stepped to the fore.

“It is time for us to send our beloved old one on her path to _[di inferi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Di_inferi). _ Blood will strengthen our manes to guide her and see her on her way.”

Bird and Aia set up an eerie cadence with their instruments. 

All present set their hand to filling in the grave. The children watched doubtfully until it was their turn. Each added dirt according to their natures; Ivor and Buck bravely strode up and each added their shovel's full, Addy and the baby held hands, Addy winced as the dirt landed – the baby managed a handful. For this occasion Andy was counted an adult even though she wasn't yet four so she took her turn with the other two priestesses.

◊

Cunorix, Quintilius and Brandr had gone to maneuver the sacrifice. Deftly wielded hurdles and some adroitly placed bait was all it took to get the fine black sow to stand over the grave. Happily she grunted over her treats, she never saw Tod flash along side of her and she certainly didn't feel the knife slashing her throat.

Quickly springing away from the torrent of bright blood, Tod thoughtfully cleaned the knife. Thalia, from the shadows behind him murmured “good kill, clean.”

The funereal music ceased.

Nodding his thanks he turned to Verna for direction. Softly she spoke his next scene.

“The sacrifice of blood will strengthen our manes and encourage them to welcome our eldest who has come to dwell with them.”

He extended the patera under the gaping throat of the sow to catch the last gush of blood as he leaned on her ribcage.

“I will trace the path her spirit must follow to rejoin her ancestors.”

Holding the patera at a cautious angle Tod dripped blood along the sacred path way and in through the cavern's entrance and all the way to the gap in the rock fall at the end.

“Water!” a bucket was brought both the patera and the knife were sluiced off. _It would never do to confuse the shades._

  
  


Honey felt a little overwhelmed with her new title, and to be honest with the idea of a baby. She did what she had always done, she took comfort in 'Mara's company. Together they stood off to one side, arms around each other's waists watching the crowd shake off its tension while being a May pole for the toddler.

“Why don't you name her Idunna for your mother? If this one is a girl, she will be Suicca for my mother.”

“Maybe.”

Abruptly

“Will you sit with me when my time comes?”

“Of course, you were there for me.”

They stood quietly while the toddler went round and round.

  
  


Thalia and Tod stood together watching the people drift off to serve the funeral meats.

“Truly, I don't know how they made all these preparations in such a short amount of time.”

“They have all of daylight, Tod. They have all of daylight, all of their short lives.

“I miss it too.”

“Tomorrow is third day, and the Aeturni will want to offer a feast in honor of the departed. We should at least stay for that.”

He turned his head scenting the wind.

“But I find myself yearning for the snows.”

◊ 

The clan was still excited when Thalia and Tod had risen with the new dark. After the funeral they had chattered on about who had done what and did ya see the other happen, until the dragar were ready to flee.

Only Verna and Honey noticed the restless energy that practically crackled around Thalia and Tod as the two threaded their way amongst the people, finally Verna shooed them from the cypress wreathed hall. Speaking as softly as she could Verna suggested: “You are still under the sway of blood-lust, it would be best for everyone if you released it on the plateau.”

The night walkers needed to purge their anger and the lingering battle lust out of their blood. A few challenges, and some undead amusements would settle their tempers. Not that last night wasn't amusing in its own way, some hand to hand and a few righteous kills always improved a dragar's mood. Good times.

Thalia had giggled (a fearsome sound, not many had heard it and survived). Shocked, Tod's eyebrows had jerked upward until he caught the sparkle in her dark eyes just as she jabbed her finger in his ribs. _Playtime_ she’d mouthed, and tore off in the direction of the cliffs.

Tod had poured on the speed just as soon as he had seen where she was headed, _a race huh?_

In a blink they were spidering up the cliffs, Thalia, the older of the two, was faster and arguably the better fighter, but Tod had the mountains in his bones and just flowed right up the rock like water drawn uphill.

If anyone had been there to watch it would have seemed impossible, the two shadows smoothly zigzagging up the cliff face, from minute toe hold to tenuous finger grip. Swing and reach, stretch and scramble. Thalia might have been faster but Tod could find a hold where there seemed to have been none. The shadows laughed when they reached the top and collapsed against each other. Neither could claim a win.

Now, after having scootched around a bit the dragur each swiped grit from a patch on the same overhang to permit them to sit shoulder to shoulder. Thalia facing south, south east, Tod, brushing off his knees and hands, settled peering directly to the south east, searching for his own snow crested mountains. The high-riding third quarter moon was almost directly over their heads and on its way to the horizon behind them.

Thalia flicked her braids back from her face. “D'ya ever want to go back Tod? Just to settle things in your mind? Y'know, see what happened.”

“Maybe....” he waggled his head from side to side “and maybe it has changed too much. Maybe there will be nothing left.

“I always like to think of my family as they were, my father bluff and weathered, chest hair silver, his arm rings and golden torque all agleam as he passed judgment. My friends wrestling in the dust of the oppidium or making eyes at the sun browned girls.

“My mind knows that these things are gone but I hold on to them. For two centuries I have held on to them. Tchaaa!” he sounded disgusted with himself.

Thalia kept her eyes to the south while she mused “Syracuse, my birth city, we wept as we fled across the marsh after the rebels rose. My family were Gamoroi, part of the aristocracy, and when the lower orders struck out they were merciless towards us. I had never thought about the justice of our system, I was young, I knew no other way.

“After we gained refuge in the hills I grew up quickly, seeing your family fall one by one will hasten that. After my parents died I learned to fight, even took a lover while I cried vengeance time and time again. My maker found me sleeping in the arms of that man. I was pregnant when I was taken, my lover was drained, and that five fathered dog's turd raped me until the baby came early, and then drained my child too. They both died. Everything that held me there had died. They always die, all of them. Sooner or later they all die. 

“It was seven centuries ago I first rose to this existence, as soon as I was clear of the dirt he'd buried me in, that rotten flyblown catamite dragged me to the mainland and then over to Greece to follow the Persian armies wherever they fought. Unfortunately Artaxerxes did not have the thirst for battle that Xerxes did and everywhere we went it seemed as though somebody else had just signed a peace treaty.

“Old maggot mouth always insisted that the next city would have armies going at each other and we would be wealthy. Ha!

“Finally we encountered one roving band of unemployed mercenaries too many and he lost his head. Even though he'd commanded me not to kill him I may have been the one to push him into the sword swing, just a little push.” Thalia shrugged and pushed her lower lip out. “But I thought I'd earned that revenge for my baby.

“ We were traveling along the Diolkos4 on the Isthmus near Corinth. It was forever amusing to watch the workmen haul ships of all sizes – even the great triremes– back and forth across the rocky Isthmus. Sailing on a bouldered sea! At least I spoke the dialect so I could get along reasonably well there, it was easy to be mistaken for a lady of the night and satisfy my other hungers too.

“The best part of being near a crossroads like Corinth was that I got all the gossip. Ravenously I listened to the travelers recounting the flowering of Syracuse, my homeland's defeat of the Athenian navy, the achievements of her engineers and poets. But I couldn't bear to go back, I didn't want to see that our house was long gone or that there were other children playing in the squares.” Thalia lifted her head as though she were checking for sunrise.

“Phillip of Macedon was interesting, or at least the gossip about him was. His wife was a witch, you know.”

Tod looked away, not to embarrass his elder with his skepticism. “No, I hadn't heard. What do you know about them, witches, I mean? My maker, a superstitious bint if there ever was one, was terrified of witches and curses. Sometimes I thought she was turned part way through the embalming process and was actually half pickled. Very cunning though.

“She thought I had magical powers because of my tattoos (you tell me what I was doing as a slave if I had powers) and she turned me because she wanted me to undo a curse that been placed on her.

“'Tura was forever going off on one hare brained quest after another. The century she'd turned me it was all about the curse her mother had laid on her. Then she'd heard gossip about a mightily powerful witch from the Hebrides who had three sons who were called Malice, Anger and Fear. With the merest threat of unleashing her children, kings would bow to her.

“She thought she was well on the road to being as powerful and as influential as that witch. She had two out of the three. Corbulo, my older brother was malicious enough for a doubled nest of vipers and I was so steeped in anger I was sure no one could ever exhaust that well spring.

“So the task was to find fear. She didn't even have the sense to wonder if she should look for a fearful being or if she should be looking for someone fearsome. Cunt.” Tod huffed in irritation.

“I can't believe how far she dragged us looking for her prize. Back and forth across Gaul, up and down through Germania. On road and off. Every time she reached a dead end she threw a tantrum, if it got past the foot stomping stage we were in for it and could only manage to limp along for several nights.

“If there wasn't enough to eat Corbulo and I did without. Didn't improve our tempers any.

“Somewhere along the line 'Tura decided we were slowing her down and after her latest tantrum she'd damaged me enough so that she left me to Corbulo's tender mercies and took off on her own.” Tod lapsed into silence, his expression grew stony as he looked into the distance.

“Well kid, don't leave me hanging, what happened then. How did you get rid of Corbulo?”

“This is the embarrassing part, I didn't get rid of him – he got rid of me.

“It was our maker's doing, when she left she cautioned Corbulo to take good care of his brother, since she'd really made a mess of me that time. She ordered me to obey Corbulo in all things.

“That is what screwed me. I couldn't _not_ do whatever stupid thing he commanded and he maliciously ordered me to do any humiliating act he could think of. Fortunately that hadn't much variety since he wasn't the sharpest knife on the bench just the nastiest.

“He soon became bored with a slave that was compelled to do anything he desired. Even _I_ was bored with being jerked around like a poppet.”

“And....?”

“I stopped reacting; my heart was dust and by that point I was looking forward to my final death. I was pretty sure that Corbulo would slip up and end me in a fit of rage. Every night his anger grew and he was more and more out of control. He seemed to think that if he was in charge he should get the same respect as a magistrate.

“He could order me around all night long – I still had no respect for him.

“Finally Corbulo could take it no longer and he had a couple of his thugs crucify me and leave me laid out to wait for the morning sun.”

“The Great Mother and Metis must have protected you or you would not be here now.”

“It seems so, I never will understand why but the Triune Goddess still wanted me as a priest since she moved the Maiden, Lugh of the clever hand and the Bard to rescue me.”

“Wait, wait – Lugh moved Brandr to be there?” Thalia gathered her braids in her fist and perplexed, tugged at them.

“Nah, it was his cousin, Eldjárn called Horse, who traveled with Honey the Maiden and Bird the songster. They were searching for me....or at least someone like me.”

“You are still confusing me; I thought Honey served as the Mother-priestess not the Maiden.”

One corner of Tod's mouth rose in a smirk and his eyes sparkled. “Ya, she did, I took care of _that_!”

“ _Dog,_ you!”

They took off chasing each other through the woods laughing, glad to shake off the bitterness.

  
  


1In [ancient Roman religion](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Religion_in_ancient_Rome), the _**Manes**_ or _**Di Manes**_ are [chthonic](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chthonic) deities sometimes thought to represent souls of deceased loved ones. They were associated with the [_Lares_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lares), _[Lemures](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lemures),_ [_Genii_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genius_%28mythology%29), and [_Di Penates_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Di_Penates) as deities _([di](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_ancient_Roman_religion#deus.2C_dea.2C_di.2C_dii))_ that pertained to domestic, local, and personal cult. They belonged broadly to the category of [_di inferi_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Di_inferi), "those who dwell below,"[[](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manes#cite_note-1)[1]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manes#cite_note-1) the undifferentiated collective of divine dead.[[](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manes#cite_note-2)[2]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manes#cite_note-2) The Manes were honored during the [Parentalia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parentalia) and [Feralia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feralia) in February.

 

2The _**di inferi**_ or _**dii inferi**_ (Latin, "the gods below") were a shadowy collective of [ancient Roman deities](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Roman_deities) associated with death and the underworld. The [epithet](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epithet) _inferi_ is also given to the mysterious [Manes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manes), a collective of ancestral spirits. The most likely explanation of the word _Manes_ is from _manus_ or _manis_ (more often in Latin as its antonym _immanis_ ), "good, kindly," a euphemistic way to speak of the _inferi_ so as to avert their potential to harm or cause fear

 

3 _Lemures_ may represent the wandering and [vengeful spirits](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vengeful_spirit) of those not afforded proper burial, funeral rites or affectionate cult by the living: they are not attested by tomb or votive inscriptions.

4http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diolkos


	28. Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the one hand stand the Aeturnae Tod's adopted human family, on the other Thalia, his new companion at arms and mentor. Can he reconcile the two?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always my profound thanks to the redoubtable penpractice, valiant defender of the proper use of the gerund. I must also thank Charlaine Harris for the creation of the SVM mysteries and for the under appreciated character, Thalia. In the last chapter I introduced her to Tod and in this chapter she stands as his companion (with occasional benefits), not romantic partner.

Beyond

A shadow slipped through the pre-dawn darkness. Tod had opted to explore the cleft that opened inward from the sacred cave. It was almost completely umbral even to his vision but his other acute senses rapidly sussed out his surroundings. Bats, it smelt distantly of bat droppings and sounded of both dripping water and the susurration of leathery wings. The night-flutterers were returning from their evening feed, they flicked past him as they headed for the echoing space beyond this corridor.

This had potential as a place to rest – a high ledge would certainly do in an emergency. A high ledge without bats, and inaccessible to scavengers would be ideal. Tod rose, letting his body lightly drag along the grain of the stone. It didn't take long to reach the roof and begin a sideways drift. An encounter with a slick plank of wood caused him to snatch his hand back in surnt defender of the proper use of the gerund. I must also thank Charlaine Harris for the creation of the SVM mysteries and for the under appreciated character, Thalia. In the last chapter I introduced her to Tod and in this chapter she stands as his companion (with occasional benefits), not romantic partner.prise. Cautiously Tod re-extended his fingers to gauge the dimensions of the object's height and breadth. The chest (for chest it was), as large as a king's sarcophagus, had a simple pair of handles set to raise the peaked lid. Given enough time he would be able to work out the carvings that ornamented every surface – a lamp would help, it was dark even for him, not the smallest glimmer of light penetrated this far underground.

The contents could be deduced to have belonged to Ancient Semni, his fingers discerned a lamp, a stoppered jug that smelt of oil, steel and tinder for making fire, layers of cloth, goose down cushions, and writing materials. They all carried the same dry musk that he recognized from her robes. A true treasure trove.

There was some oil left in the jug and Tod thoughtfully shook it, did he or did he not have time before sunrise to have a look? Better not risk it, too many flammables. Tomorrow eve, I'll have a look around then.

It was a comfortable space boasting an inward latch that would draw the lid into a tight seal. No scavengers could disturb his day-death. Barring the collapse of the mountain, it was a safe place to rest.

As Tod relaxed into the cushions they released a greater complexity of scent. Not just the signature that betokened dragur but also the grace notes of the Aeturni and the undertone of the vital feminine. All of these signaled Ancient Semni. This day he would add another chapter to the sensory record. After he rose he would light the lamp and learn more. He pulled the cedar lid closed and secured the latch whereupon he focused on inhaling Ancient Semni's story one more time before his consciousness flickered.

And he exhaled into the new dark, One more inhale and Tod was able to pick out his favorite three as toddlers, still powdered with baby smells. Others, so many others, young, then old, then dying blood; Semni's thread wove through them all. Is this what it would be like for him? A continuity rather than endless loss? Fated neither to Corbulo's malicious madness nor 'Tura's endless quest for a magical release. He breathed again. It smelled like hope.

He rose and closed the resting place, taking up the oil bottle to refill before gliding to the floor.

Slipping through the rift in the mountain's body, he stood in the gloaming watching the busy humans as they tided away the last of the third day funeral feast. They'd bid Nemeta's spirit a proper farewell then, good.

Men put up the trestle tables, children scurried with the last of the serving platters, to and fro between Verna who saw to the contents and the young women crouched over tubs, each wielding a short bunch of scouring rush.

To spare their good clothes, the women had put aside their festive dress and worked in their linen under tunics – which were soon wet and mostly transparent everywhere that they pulled tight over feminine contours.

Bird had taken a break and was admiring the back ends of the women. Apparently he was particularly taken with Aia's lithe form and he stood hypnotized by her bend and stretch as she handed off the clean platters to an older child.

Tod came to stand next to Bird, the oil jug still dangling from his forefinger, and was soon wearing the same foolish smile his companion was. Both Honey and 'Mara were well endowed, their rumps broadly muscular, promising an energetic ride.

As soon as Bird noticed his companion he tipped his head and mimed his delight at the view with closed eyes and pursed lips.

Tod replied with hands extended in a gripping, weighing gesture while exhaling: Ummmm umh.

They chuckled before Bird offered a, "Good rising Gamli."

The women whipped around to balance on a single knee. "Good rising Gamli," they chorused, while taking that moment to push stray bits of hair out of their faces with wet arms.

It took a while for Tod to answer he was rather focused on the breasts pressing against the wet linen: the small blood knives dangling between 'Mara's bountifully milky breasts and Honey's ripely pregnant set, a pendant tickling Aia's maidenly hand's-full. All delicious. Gah! I'm seriously horny he thought as he wet his lips.

Only Aia blushed.

'Mara winked and dimpled, Honey grinned. Oh myyyyy. The women stretched their backs and rolled their shoulders before getting back to the scrubbing. They may have given an extra wiggle before bending over again.

Bird clapped him on the shoulder as he doubled over laughing.

"They do fancy you, my man, y'know they those two have always done everything together ever since they were wee-little." Gasping a bit from an excess of mirth. "You might find yourself with a double portion some night!"

Brandr shot the two a black look as he and Quintilius strode past, towards the barn porting the trestle boards.

As Bird and Tod turned to remonstrate, the space where their heads had been was transected by a neatly aimed arrow which thrummed as it embedded itself in the board.

"What the Imperial fuck!" Shouted the bard (he was a well traveled man and his curses were always colorful). "Down, every body down!" Bird lunged forward to grab Aia's ankle and pull her down with him.

Three more arrows shusshed into the dust and another clanged against the cook pot before dropping into the embers beneath it.

Tod had vanished before the scent of singed feathers from the charred arrow reached their noses. Two sets of screams followed hard on the dragur's flight, which quickly attracted a Thalia sized streak of light, promptly followed by a squishy thump and gurgle near the first set.

"Stupid people" was every one's assessment and the universal grumble about having landed in the mud.

A smiling Thalia was a fearsome thing, a bloodied fully fanged Thalia was truly terrifying, a blood bedaubed, fanged and giggling Thalia was beyond nightmare.

Even though the Aeturni were all strong stomached and iron nerved, they swayed dizzily when they realized that Thalia had hooked two of her fingers through the man's neck muscles and was proudly dragging him like a blankie. Aia fainted.

Thalia tched.

By the time most everyone had gotten themselves upright Tod had hauled his targets down mountain and held them out grinning, so that every one could admire his catch.

"Street trash, all three of them, didn't put up much of a fight. Just brave enough to attack women scouring pots after a funeral meal– from a distance at that."

Tod examined each of the men, peering closely whilst giving them a shake. "Look at that, decked out in gimcrack, painted like Roman dandies.

"Ooooh, this one might have enough spark in him to say something." He dunked him repeatedly in the dishwater.

No one could spare Aia a glance until the present threat had been dealt with. Finally the slave had roused herself enough to get to her knees. She peered at the battered men. "Cousin? What were you thinking? What are you doing here?"

Roughly shaking the barely-conscious figure until his baubles jangled, Tod demanded that he answer the girl.

"Uncle oughtn't have sold you, Auntie can't cook and won't clean. Ought to have kept you t'home for us. Wasn't right, we have needs too."

Aia scuttled backwards moaning, "No, no, no. A deal's a deal. Can't go back on it.

"Bird, I've been good, I've done everything you asked, I'm a hard worker, aren't I Mistresses?"

Honey took a moment to reassure the girl with a brief pat on the shoulder. Thank the mothers she was not prone to hysterics.

Bird was appalled by the situation. One moment he was he was joking about the women's sweet asses with Tod and in not even a heartbeat his friend had become a ravening monster tormenting his prey.

It is not as if they hadn't seen Tod's fangs before, he and Honey'd been with him the night of the Roman messengers – he'd gone thoroughly mad with blood lust then. This was different, this was a cold glee.

The Gamli even bitten them a time or two – politely – but this reminded him more of that time in Confluentes when he'd gone to the circus. They'd set a leopard on some slaves just to see if it attacked differently than wolves would. It did. It was a fearsome spotted bundle of nasty, playing with its victims. At this moment there was something of the leopard in Tod. A smug satisfaction in his bloody kill.

'Mara and Honey pressed their lips together in the face of the carnage. Oh, they'd done their share of butchering and during the battle with the rogues were proud of their kills, but this was the embodiment of the Gorgoneia and this was the first time they had been close to it. Well then, they thought, there it is, the whole ball of wax.

An uncomfortable silence had settled over the scene and the three of them swallowed, almost in unison, and straightened their backs.

Pressing their hands together they bowed from the waist, the others followed, even Brandr and Quintilius, still lurking in the background, made obeisance.

Bird intoned, "A righteous kill, Elders. Your sortie brilliantly defended our home. Our thanks to our guest/friend who fought on our behalf and to our beloved Gamli."

Even though Bird's pretty little speech was short, Brandr thought he might gag. They'd all been doing fine, why did they have to import a new dragur and mess everything up? Not that he minded moving to the city, it would probably be better for his business. Brandr just didn't like being told what to do.

Tod's delight began to dwindle under the impassive gaze of his humans. He whipped his head around to catch Thalia's mouth writhing upward in a sneer. The young dragur just wanted to share the fun with his people but their blank expressions clued him in that he was pushing the limits of their acceptance. The beast that now lived within had come out to play and the humans were frozen by the otherness.

She knew that would happen – mere humans couldn't get their heads around the brutal world that the dragur inhabited. They could accept ruthless Roman justice, the savagery of the Gods, even the grim realities of daily life, but something about the bloodthirsty inhumanity of their kind sent tremors through their souls. Thalia turned her face away.

She imagined it was as if the humans were actors on a stage and the dragar were observing, ranged waiting in the shadows. Their lives were such a brief act with a merciless conclusion. it did not make sense for a dragur to get involved with them. It only led to pain.

Faugh I'm getting philosophical in my old age. I should leave that to old men in wine-shops. Descending from hope to this cold pain in less than an hour is hard on his spirit.

While the six humans, three corpses, and two dragar were immobilized by the awkward situation, Verna came bustling up rearranging her stola. Translating decades of experience with small children and their trophies, she immediately began exclaiming over the bodies.

"Thalia, that was neatly done. I venture he didn't even have time to blink!

"Thank Toutatis, Tod. He surely guided you both this evening to protect us.

"You are brilliant warriors. Have you had your fill? Yes, yes, good. There is a tree over here where we hang offerings to the God...usually just trinkets...but this will be a fine display of our gratitude.

"Are the dishes all scrubbed ladies? Let's get it finished so we can make a dedication. Bird – you help." She turned and trotted over towards the ancient white oak that stood sentinel alongside the gate.

Bird had brought a torch to battle the darkness under the wide branches. "You know I think we might have to use those fish traps I was working on – I think we only have one proper man-basket, and an old one at that." He turned aside and asked Quintilius to fetch the wicker work baskets from the loft.

"Perhaps the God will forgive us in exchange for the freshness and the number of the sacrifices," temporized the ever practical Verna. Toutatis knows we are doing the best we can.

Thalia and Tod nodded solemnly, they really had no interest in what happened to the men once they were dead. They both thought that a sacrifice to the protector God might be a good thing, he had been generous recently, thanks were in order.

Quintilius was a little stressed, muttering under his breath as he dragged the basketry back to where they stood under the tree. Verna knew the signs and suggested that he might want to get ready to sleep now.

The suggestion, though gently made was enough to set the man off. "Quin do this, Quin do that, go here, go there." He was flinging his arms in the air and spitting with the vehemence of his shouts. "Until I can't remember anything – an' I make mistakes –an' somebody YELLS at me!"

"Now Quintilius, you have worked very hard today, would you like a cup of ale and another bit of honey cake before you rest? 'Mara get him some ale please."

He was winding up to a full fledged hissy fit when Thalia caught his eye. "Husssssh, go to rest now, go with 'Mara."

Quin stood there glassy eyed, still breathing hard, a thread of spittle hanging from his red lips and his bald head shiny with sweat until 'Mara took his arm and led him off towards the hall.

"Thank you Ancient, that was a kindness."

Thalia huffed, she'd never been accused of kindness before.

Verna and Bird had their heads together figuring out what was needed to hang the baskets from the tree and how quickly they would be able to extend the smallest trap.

Although he had been distracted by the contretemps, Tod kept his eyes fixed on the branches above. He was trying to appear absorbed in the study of the overhead branches but perhaps gave himself away by blinking too frequently. Actually he was trying to deal with the boulder of sorrow that had settled in his gut. He'd thought he was getting closer to his people, getting a grip on his vanishing humanity. He hungered for the feeling of home and a sense of belonging. An illusion, there had been a whisper of terror across their faces then a chill distance in their hearts.

Honey could feel Tod's pain, and she was drawn to stand close until he noticed her body heat on his back. She could tell he knew she was there even though he kept his head tipped back staring into the tangle of limbs above them.

"Tod," she waited a moment. "Tod, thank you for taking care of those scum. You were so fast, I didn't even see you...Um, would you like me to start the bath for you?"

Not looking at her, their Gamli nodded brusquely. Tentatively she reached out to his shoulder, but he shrugged off her touch.

"Thalia, what about you?" Honey turned her head but stayed leaning towards Tod, reluctant to touch him again.

"Si, might I have the rosemary oil?"

"You, Tod, the usual?"

"Whatever."

Alone in the bath house, immersed in the routine of starting the fire, warming the water, setting out the oils, Honey chased thoughts around in her mind, finally able to get an elusive feeling hammered into shape.

Slowly she leaned back on her heels, not daring to form a word until she'd looked at it from all angles. There it was. Tod would leave soon. There was a restlessness about him, like a bird getting ready to migrate. Ever since the battle he hadn't been able to settle on any one thing.

Settled in her mind, Honey slapped her thighs as she knelt there and nodded firmly. Well, yes, he'd probably be back to celebrate Samhain, if not, for sure by Yuletide. He swore he'd stand father to the baby, but that wouldn't be until Eostre.

Right now the Lady Goddesses were stirring in her belly, craving the dance of the beast with two backs. She needed to celebrate life. Mmmmm little sweet talk was in order.

As she chucked another log into the fire-box, the murmur of her family came closer and she stood, ready to help Tod undress. She'd have to move cautiously, Honey didn't want to irritate him. She did want to know what had gotten his undies in a bunch.

Muddied or bloodied, everyone pulled off their tunics. The heap quickly slapped together in a corner ready for the laundry tub. It would take some doing but they would be clean by morning.

Three double-wicked lamps were burning brightly, shedding more than enough light for Verna to unravel Thalia's braids. The pale sard of her lean body and twisted onyx strands of her hair were a vibrant version of a pale figured kylix. She could have been carved from sardonyx's russet tones. Rolling her shoulders, she tipped her head back so Verna could start working soap into her scalp. This was the best.

If Thalia's body was forever twenty three, Verna's shape had devolved from generative to senescence. Her body was long done with baby making and everything needed for it had been tucked away. Her ropy muscles and knobby joints completed every task with brisk efficiency and her sharp eyes cataloged everything around her. When Verna was done with Thalia's mass of hair, she'd unbind and wash her own lengthy iron gray strands.

Verna kept watch over Aia as she tended to Bird, wetting, soaping and re-wetting the places where blood had matted the strands together. So slender, you'd think she was a boy. Her fine blonde hair often slipped into wisps around her face and was almost impossible to keep confined. So pale, although with the better food and regular meals she looked healthier and would no doubt start her menses again. Hopefully her breasts would fill out behind the pale pink buds and she could overcome some of her earlier deprivation.

'Mara and Honey worked together to slip off Tod's tunic and massage soap into his skin and hair.

"Hey, Aia." Honey's hands kept on digging into and massaging Godric's lower back automatically. "Who were those creeps?"

Aia had gotten to the part where she was rinsing Bird's hair. "Wait a bit...keep your eyes closed Bird...not really my blood cousins. My father's step brother's by-blows. They were always trying to bunk with us and half the time would make off with any spare coin their father had."

She heaved a great sigh. "Trouble from the get go, always trying to get me into a corner, pinching me and trying to get their hands up my tunic."

'Mara chimed in, "I bet you aren't the only one glad to see the end of them."

Snort "Even their mothers will be glad!" She turned back towards Bird.

"Why don't you have a soak while I wash my hair?

"Is this the chamomile soap Honey?" she asked as she lifted the lid and sniffed at the contents of a buff colored jar. "Smells like it."

Honey had her hands full, sponging warm water over Tod's back before lightly slapping his butt. "Eh, turn over so I can get your legs.

"C'mon Aia, why would their mothers want them to disappear?"

"Don'tcha know, they were bad for business," she poured a little more warm water on her head, "no whore wants her grown sons hanging around her doss."

Everyone doubled over with laughter. Bird slipped under the water and came up sputtering, Thalia was flailing her hands in the air and crying, "Stop, oh, stop."

Honey had a firm grasp of Tod's thigh but had stopped massaging and was rocking back and forth with laughter. He had covered his face with both hands and wheezed and snorted into his palms.

"Ooooof, that felt good!" 'Mara shook her head as she poured a steady stream of water over Thalia's head.

The oldest of the Aeturnae leaned back and stretched a bit. She didn't think the joke was that funny but they all needed the release, the catharsis of a good laugh.

Thalia's ivory hands gathered her waist length mass of hair and wrung it out before climbing into the tub to soak.

Verna suggested that 'Mara and Honey wash now while she plaited Thalia's hair. She loved doing the long tight braids, loved the way they looked streaming out behind the dragur when she put on some speed. Getting down the rosemary oil, she poured herself a palmful and got to work rubbing it into the Syracusian's scalp, fingering it through the tangles. Thalia sighed with pleasure. What luxury.

Tod smoothly sat up. "Honey, go, it is your turn to wash, I'm ready to soak." Really that was the only decent thing to do since Honey was jiggling with laughter and he was all too aware she had her hands close to things better left unexplored. It was getting harder every moment (mustn't say that), to pull his eyes away.

The dragar and the bard were chest deep in the hot water, it was dark enough so that he could watch the women wash and pour water over each other's hair without the public embarrassment of a visible erection. The lift and reach of their arms and breasts was a lovely thing. Aia did have the most graceful neck but he found himself drawn to Honey's warm skin and juicy figure. Later, they'd get together later.

"Alright, your hair is done!" Verna used both hands to gather the plaits up. "D'ya want me to bind it up to keep the dirt off?" She reached for a dark length of linen as Thalia twisted her head around to look.

"That indigo one would be good, I'd rather not wave a flag where ever I go."

After twisting the strands up into a knot she draped the cloth across the dragur's forehead and tied it securely at the back making sure to pin the braids up under the tail before snugging that away.

"All set. My turn to soak."

Verna didn't much care about the remaining dark streaks in her hair, but it was nice when the silver and snow looked bright. She'd stopped using the rosemary wash years ago and stuck to the chamomile. Well at least it got her hair clean and smelled nice – what more could you ask for.

Since the bard had his eye on the maidservant all evening, Thalia though she might go see if grumpy Brandr wanted to play for a while; he looked as though he might have some stamina.

Honey was walking back towards the house when Tod sped up alongside her and caught her hand in his. She moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I will miss you."

He spun so quickly to face her that she lurched sideways. "What?"

"I can tell you've gotten the wander lust," she explained, knitting her brows defiantly, and looking into his eyes. "I can tell!"

"How can you tell? I've said nothing."

"Every time I looked at you are facing towards your mountains, almost leaning in that direction. It's all right. We knew you would set out sooner or later." Honey toed the dust, making lines.

"Just come back for Yule. By then folk tend to keep close by their fires. It'll be harder for you to feed." She watched her feet and pressed her lips together.

"At least come back when it is time for the baby." Honey looked up to catch his eyes.

"How long have you known?" The night walker pulled away from her, and squinted speculatively.

"Since the battle, not that it really was a battle, we should probably call it a skirmish.

"We knew you and Thalia were getting restless. It is in your nature.

"Our Ancient Semni would be taken with the need to wander but she would always come back for the Solstices and usually for the Equinoxes. We would catch up with the gossip and share blood before she would be off again."

"Oh, I was afraid that your people would think me ungrateful. That makes it easier – that you expect me to go but that I will be welcome back again too." he reached out and stroked her face with his forefinger.

"Yes, you are our Gamli, we are always here for you, our blood is yours."


	29. Hither and Yon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for our hero to strike out on his own. It is painful to leave his 'family' but it is necessary to seize his freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs and kisses to penpractice who raises me up and sets me on the right path.

Hither and Yon  
Patiently Tod waited for his day-death in the comfort of Ancient Semni's resting place. It was better than anything he had enjoyed as a human, funny that. Huuuumph.  
Even so, even with his humans at hand and the comfort under his shoulders, even so, he was looking forward to sleeping rough again and seeing new things with Thalia. She thought they might go back to Corinth to check out her old haunts. Maybe they could visit some of the wilder parts of Dacia and the great river that brought amber. He rather wanted to spend some time in Macedonia to find traces of that Alexander that he'd heard of.  
Not too much time though, not all at once, he wanted to get back to his people, back to Hon...................  
◊  
Honey sidled through their portal to the underworld while she determinedly clutched the pot of blended beeswax and dragged a stool behind her. After all the excitement of marauding dragar and their ravening skeletal minions (just the thought, bleccchhh) she finally had an afternoon to work on Nemeta's mask.

The sun was still bright, but the western shoulder of the entrance kept the slanted rays from fingering the interior of the Goddess' cave. The inside was so shadowed that she was blinded by the change.

She was still pressed for time – her aim was to get at least one layer of the mask done before dusk. In haste her fingers fumbled with the granny knot that secured a ditty bag to her belt and spilled out the bag holding the Goddess' herbs onto the work bench. 

Leaving the scattered herbs, the priestess darted back outside, squinting into the bright afternoon light as she scooped up the plaster mold she'd left in the sunlight. The warmer the plaster, the more easily it would accept the wax; it would flow like honey.  
Back inside, already tired from her round of chores, she leaned up against the rough wall waiting for her eyes to adjust so she could see to the lights and the fire.  
Rootling blindly around the back of the shadowed bench, Honey's fingers slipped across the slick surface of the oil jar she'd sought to top off the two pinched clay shaped lamps.  
There was a small matter of adjusting the wicks cleverly protruding from the fronts before setting them aside. Next she placed a soapstone patera front and center, charging the shallow bowl with leftover oily wicking and a heap of cedar curls. With a quick prayer to Lugh, Honey struck a series of merry sparks which settled into the wood shavings and caught on the ruffled fiber. In an effort to speed the flame she whispered Lugh, Lugh over the glowing strands, breathing Lugh again, swirling the smoke as it coiled upward and the glow brightened. As soon as the flame licked steadily at the tinder, the wicks of the lamps were gently introduced until they too were alight and the priestess placed them on either end of the shelf of masks.  
Next, Honey drew out sprigs of sage, rosemary, thyme and juniper from the tangled herbs and fanned them before her on the narrow bench. Three sprigs of sage for the Goddess' aid, wisdom and protection; over the sage, a solid branch of rosemary for remembrance and to clear the air of ill intent, then she tightly bound these together, along with the thyme and juniper, using a thread of Nemeta's own spinning. As the herbs burned, so would the thread - ensuring that the Crone would not remain tied to the pieces of her handiwork still on this earth.  
The lavender she put aside for later next to a handful of noble bay leaves and a few lengths of fine gauze.  
Pulling the rest of her tools to hand, briskly Honey tonged in some small bits of charcoal amongst the smoldering curls of cedar, blowing softly until there was an even glow. Next a tripod was set in place over the flame and she balanced the handled wax pot atop the spidery iron.  
Nodding and whispering to herself, Honey observed the wax as it began to clarify around the edges and release the trapped scent of honey and sweet almonds. Only then did she light the bound herbs to purify the area.  
Smudge in one hand and hawk wing in the other, the still whispering Honey carried the smoldering bundle, fanning the smoke into the furthest corners, around and over the priestly tools and ancestral masks until the herbs were mostly consumed, then returning the bundle to the dish to maintain a ward against ill intent. Only good could be incorporated with the wax or it would imbue one of the guardian spirits of the clan with evil. All the Penates (as the Romans called them) were fashioned thus.  
By now the beeswax was mostly melted and she could begin to stir it, making sure the few drops of almond oil and their prayers remained blended within the wax.  
Just to keep things going, the priestess slipped another pebble of charcoal onto the embers and breathed more prayers to the spirit of the hearth and family until it too glowed and the ash had traveled almost all the way to the top of the smudge. Lifting the wax pot off the trident she replaced it with the plaster, negative side down and set several bay leaves on the coals.  
Cold plaster would steal the life from the wax before it had taken a detailed impression and part of Nemeta's spirit would be lost. Honey's unending pleas and whispers seemed to pull the family's Disr in close, the spirits hovering around her workings like warm blessings.  
◊  
Tod rose early, pricked by muffled words curling around his resting place and tickling his memories, his acute nose picking up some thin whiffs of herbal smoke. So it was with his uncle when he was performing a working late at night. Even when Tod was quite small, rolled up in sheepskins dozily staring into the fire, Uncle would be dancing around the summer hut waving a smoldering branch of sage, sweeping the hearth with juniper.  
Unlatching the chest and floating free, he made it silently over to the crevice in the rocks where he could more clearly hear the voice. Ya, it was Honey he'd heard. He edged around the rough rock face until he could watch the ceremony.  
Honey had just lifted the mold from the trivet and rebalanced it face up, wedging it in place. Quickly she snatched the ashy smudge from the coals and tapped it sharply over the smoke stained interior of the mask. Fine gray ash coated the ivory surface. Keeping her head turned to one side so that her breath wouldn't be trapped in the mask, Honey flicked the sides of the mold with her fingers until the ash settled in the low spots; the eyelids, the crease that ran from the side of the nose to the mouth, the minute wrinkles of the aged face and the seam of the lips.  
She gripped the pot's handle and slowly poured a stream of wax into the deepest part formed by the bridge of the Crone's nose. From there it thickly crept up to the cheeks, rising until it had filled the eye cavities. As soon as the pot was empty Honey began tilting the warmed mold, rotating it so that the cooling wax was evenly distributed, even up into the hairline. Oooof, just enough there, maybe a little extra, it would never do to skimp.  
With one more tap of the smudge over the gauze strips she returned the stub of the bundle to the patera to finish smoldering. Quickly the priestess lay the strips crisscrossing the inside of the wax pressing them gently until the fibers were well trapped in the sticky surface.  
In the shadow by the crevice, Tod whispered his own prayers and blessings to keep the mask strong. This would be a powerful watcher for the clan.  
Arranging the mold just so and re-bracing it all 'round with wedges, Honey stepped away from the bench cocking her head to one side to judge the leveling while absently feeling her tunic and hands for splodges of wax.

“My Uncle the priest made masks like that. He used clay though, had it brought up from the valleys.” A quick breath and a pause before a soft smile touched Honey’s face at the sound of his voice, though she didn’t look up from her self-tidying. She hadn’t really been startled by his presence though she couldn’t be sure when she had first become aware of it.  
“Mostly for Chiefs, though sometimes a wealthy old fashioned family would have one done for the paterfamilias. I helped sometimes.  
“There was a man in the town near us who did very clever likenesses in soapstone; Uncle would bless them too.”  
By this time Honey had finished peeling off the bits of wax from her hands and brushed down her tunic before she turned to watch Tod's face fall into the familiar distant expression when he was remembering his human days.  
He was completely still and his features sharply delineated with lamplight, a chiaroscuro of pensive youth. His hair was burnt umber, Honey bet that it had gotten sun streaked when he was human. Might even have had a touch of red to it. It was hard to remember how old the dragur actually was since the planes of his face were still softened by traces of baby fat and his beard and body hair faint.  
There was only a glint of gold now where the lamplight hit the hairs on his forearms. Mesmerized she drew closer and reached out to stroke his forearm.  
Tod was drawn in by her fascination and actually shivered when her fingertips made contact with the soft skin of his inner wrist.  
“How much more do you have to do here?”  
“I should wait until those coals burn themselves out, but that is all.”  
Tod slipped his arm around Honey's shoulders and pulled her close while he leaned against the rock. Soon he began to rub his face in her hair and nuzzle into the warmth under the tent of her head scarf. An easy matter since they were much of a size.  
“I always knew that pregnant women smelled good but I've never had the time to enjoy it. I wish I could put it in a bottle like any other scent.”  
Honey's mind spun with possibilities. “Is there a spot where the scent is strongest? Maybe I can think of a way....”  
Tod's nose began twitching as he investigated every crevice he could easily reach. “This will never do my sweet, you'll have to take off that tunic.”  
“Well I might as well save it for working in here since it is bound to get wax on it.” She tugged the cloth over her head and hooked it over a peg that had been rammed into a crevice.  
Tod was very fond of Honey's ripening shape, her nipples were darker already and her tummy a little fuller. She was the image of the Mother, his beloved Goddess. He was particularly drawn to the space between her breasts and the scent under her arms. Mmmmm, smells like comfort, like home.  
“I think,” and he, overcome, began rubbing like a cat, that’s the old Kit still in me – I thought him long gone. Tucking his nose into her armpit Tod inhaled repeatedly. Forgotten feelings, family, loyalty to my people, the scent of my lair.  
“I think, it is a combination of these two that I crave. Yes, there are other areas, but those are for other moods.”  
Honey's work callused hands stroked from his shoulders down to his muscled flanks.  
“The coals have burnt themselves out, let us extinguish the lamps to complete this night's working and then we can think on those moods.”  
◊  
Honey pinched out the wicks, and smoky darkness abruptly settled around them. There was no color left in the coals, she and Tod felt confident they could leave things as they were and close up the Goddess' cave.  
The purple dusk on the other side of the door was bright and clear after the fug inside, there was even light enough so that they could take the short path to the little waterfall to rinse the traces of the magic off. It was not respectful to mix the holy with the mundane. The spiritual touched both, each thing had its place.  
It was comforting to Honey that Tod, in his priestly persona, understood all these things and they could act in concert. Nodding to herself and humming a little, she imagined the ways she would teach Andy so in turn she would be a comfort to Tod.  
“What are you thinking about Honey?” The dragur syn-chronically frowned and raised an eyebrow.  
“I'm thinking about Andy, and about how she will take my place as the Matron when it is time.  
“Will you help me train her? I want her to be here for you, as I am.”  
Immediately Tod became rigid. “I don't want to think about that yet! I have just gotten a sense of my humanity and it will take me time to let it loose again.”  
“We must learn to do this - it is hard for me too.” Drawing her shoulders back the priestess seemed to pull on her official mantle. “Gamli! You know, as sworn servants of the Triune Goddess, we are also bound to follow the wheel – Maiden, Mother, Crone. Each has her time and season. You were part of my transition from Maiden to Mother, I must eventually become the Crone and then Guardian. You are death, you stand apart, you form your own triad with the bard and the procreator; we must embrace each other and accept the changes or we do not serve the Goddess.”  
Quickly Tod looked away, blinking away bitter sadness. He wanted things to stay the way they were for a while, but the priestess was right and he knew better. They both served the Goddess, and now that he had been forced to take the guise of death their ways would part.  
Growing between the stepping stones facing the path to the water ferns and sedges lashed at their ankles. It was too dark to see the treacherous knuckles of moss and slicks of algae. Stiffly Tod held Honey's elbow as they felt their way under the cascade.  
◊  
Putting aside their undergarments they stood back to back under the water. The priestess was trying to do the right thing, even though it was painful. Ever since she took her first steps she knew she was destined to serve the Goddess, her life would always be more difficult than her friend 'Mara's. Usually she was proud of her responsibilities, but times like this, when all she wanted was a simple life, Tod as her partner and a swarm of children around them, it just hurt.  
The Gamli's feelings were raw too, he'd loved being the priest of life and growth and creation, he'd loved worshiping the Goddess with his body and sharing her blessings. He could feel that Honey hurt too, they had shared blood more often than with his other people and their tie was deeper. He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed, thinking about the sadness to come.  
Even though she was all over goosebumps and starting to shiver, Honey still stood, her head hung heavily, weighed down with her wyrd.  
Eventually Tod turned and extended his arm to stroke her back. His hand was neither warmer nor colder than the water, it felt as though the liquid had taken on form and had begun to pet her. Odd feeling.  
◊  
“Everyone will want to feed you before you leave tonight. For remembrance, don't you know.”  
“Feed me here, before we go inside; sit on my lap – face me, I want to enjoy your scent too.”  
Honey sat on his lap while he again memorized the scent of her hair, her neck, and her breasts. Everywhere he could reach while he was within striking distance of her neck. Tod wondered if he were afraid that his meal might get away, anticipating the rich sapor…...... hovering over the great vessels, inhaling, spinning himself up. Like lightning he struck. Definitively, surgically, deftly. His fangs slipped home and he swallowed the rich bouquet of flavors, in turn releasing minute doses of an euphoric hypnotic produced in glands hidden in the roots of his fangs.  
He had learned to control the secretions, not to waste them, they were meant to bind ordinary humans to a dragur, to lock in a food source. These people, however, had taken his blood – forging a nest bond, a totally different proposition than a scrum of warm bodied minions.  
This he had learned when 'Tura and Corbulo had hooked up with some wandering dragar and their minions. They also quickly found out how dangerous it was to be part of a mass – easily discovered and easily killed. It was better to be alone and wary than in company and meet the final death.  
Plenty of time to be bored, two centuries to practice the little tricks with his venom. Plenty of time to learn what happened when he didn't use it. Corbulo never bothered, he said he liked blood flavored with fear. 'Tura liked the flavor of lust, no surprise there.  
He himself had developed a craving for Roman blood, especially if they fought him. He liked the taste of victory, this time he won. They died, he survived. Yes. Again and again.  
Tod needed to get on the road. Honey was sweet and warm and delicious, but tonight he couldn't even relax enough to enjoy her company. He needed to get gone.  
◊  
Everyone had gathered for his farewell and it was much the same as his welcome. Only small changes indicated the time that had passed. Nemeta was gone and Brandr was there. Bucky had come of age, he was seven now, and had his very own blood knife. So proud, Tod thought he would burst.  
Perched on his high seat before the great carved bed, Tod bid each member of the Aeturnae farewell, promising to be back by Samhain. As the focal priest for the festival of souls he needed to be there.  
For each farewell kiss a little blood was given and a little taken. Bucky proudly wielded his new knife and Andy pouted a little since she wasn't old enough to have her own. Finally putting aside her sulk, Andy gave him a ferocious hug and cried a little.  
“MyTod, you come back! MyHoney say you be ba' when d'long ni's come.”  
“Yes, MyAndy, I'll be back before the feast of the long nights.”  
All saluted Thalia and wished her safe travel while reminding her that as their guest friend she was owed shelter and support to the end of her days.  
◊  
Two of the original travelers, minus Horse, stood under the front portico waving as Tod and Thalia set off. Andala squeezed her way between Honey and Bird, her teary little face screwed up, lower lip trembling. Verna followed the child but stood in the shadows, praying.  
“Goddess watch you!” tumbled from their throats.  
By this tine Andy was crying so hard she collapsed into a damp bundle lying across the adult's feet.  
Honey shielded the remaining light with the palm of her hand and watched the dragur vanish into the night. Tod only looked back once.  
◊  
Thalia set off at a ground eating trot and as soon as Tod's footfalls matched hers, she picked up more speed. Their first resting place would be Isarnomarus' shop, they wanted to get the local gossip and see how Horse and Eppie were doing. Goddess willing, Eppie would already be increasing.  
His companion was a fast traveler but flying was not one of her gifts; Tod spirited her across the Moselle before they scrambled up the side of the opposite plateau. They had already decided to stay to the east of the area where the rogues had hunted. It would be a quick trip at their speed.  
Thalia knew they were to meet three of the outlying Aeturni, she'd gotten the sense that Tod was particularly fond of Horse. Perhaps because, when he was wounded, Horse had patiently carried him around and willingly fed him. Good people, they clung to the old ways, the very embodiment of hospitality, Zeus Xenios reward them.  
In the ordinary way of things she despised people. Modern men had no honor, the master of the house, the kyrios, no longer protected his family or made sure that his children were provided for. Instead they left them to fend for themselves or sold them to passing slavers like young Aia had been. Thalia's father had died protecting his household, he had held off the ruffians as she and her mother fled to the hills. There, indeed, was an honorable man.  
The drumbeat of her feet kept pace with her thoughts, no honorable men.  
Tod skittered alongside, detouring once in a while to vault over fallen trees and leap across ravines. Owls were silenced, crickets stilled. Joy thrummed in his limbs, freedom propelled him further and higher. The first time in two centuries he was able to do what he wanted to do.  
Sure, Thalia was with him, but as more of a running buddy than a minder. Joy.  
◊

Well before dawn the running dragar came upon the coulée that led from the plateau down towards the Rhine just a little north of the blacksmith's shop. Tod pointed out Horse and Eppie's house as they slithered down to the road. Thalia cocked her head downstream towards Brey where she had heard some early risers stirring.  
“Let's stop for a bit to eat so we won't be too much trouble to our hosts.”  
Tod lifted his chin in agreement.  
One of bargees was sitting on the quay and scratching his belly, another had already stumbled up towards the dock's-side wine shop, hoping to break his fast.  
Thalia tipped her head, sending Tod river wards while she sprinted towards her clumsy prey almost within reach of the tavern.  
The ropes holding the barges were pulled taut as the vessels were drawn north by the current. The small disturbance caused only a muffled thunk as a startled victim caused water logged wood to encounter the quay.  
Quick, quick, and their meals were a little lighter and none the wiser. Tod chuckled as he swiped his face with the heel of his hand and Thalia teased him about being a messy feeder, the banter continuing while they strolled the short bit to the blacksmith's.  
Close by, Tod's nostrils flared. “Our Eppie has the meal fire going. She's a good one.”  
He leaned back against the tree in the dooryard. They had time, the horizon was barely gray.  
“Let us not be rudely hammering at the door, we can wait until they come out for their morning piss. They are lazy today......It is getting light  
“Where is the old smith, Samognatus, he should be out here by now to light the shop fire? Where is our welcome?”

**Author's Note:**

> Parallex is as historically correct as I could make it without a lifetime of study. I am eternally grateful to my Board of Advisers: the eminent British literary scholar, penpractice; the renowned translator and classics scholar, aspis7; and my generous medical and psychological consultants (aka friends and family).
> 
> Then there are the fan fiction writers who have been my constant companions in sickness and in health in winter and in summer; you have been a heartening validation to the creative spirit in all of us. An especial bow in the direction of Bathshebarocks and RandomDarkness for their love of history. Carol E. Stewart gets an enthusiastic wave and a loud whoo-hooo!
> 
> This is intended for mature audiences. It contains graphic depictions of, or allusions to, life from about 100 BCE (while the Dacian Kingdom in the Balkans was coalescing) through the Era of the Roman Empire and up until more modern times. Life was cheap and in some instances horribly brutal.


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